Requiem
by Okami Rayne
Summary: Death is a fate we all share, but grief can leave us divided. In the shadow of Asuma's death the shinobi of Konoha learn that grief, unlike death, isn't just a thief in the night – but a night in itself. (Part 3 of BtB series)
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: NARUTO and its characters were created and are owned by Masashi Kishimoto. Original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement intended.

Title: REQUIEM

Pairings: ShikaNeji, Asuma/Kurenai, Shikaku/Yoshino

Rating: M / R (language etc.)

Genre: Angst/General

Summary: Death is a fate we all share, but grief can leave us divided. In the shadow of Asuma's death the shinobi of Konoha learn that grief, unlike death, isn't just a thief in the night – but a night in itself. (BtB series)

**Timeline**: Shippuden. Neji and Shikamaru aged 17-18 (post-Hidan and Kakuzu arc, pre-Invasion of Pain arc). Approx. 2 days after Hidan's burial.

* * *

**REQUIEM**

by Okami Rayne

**Chapter One**

"_You never ask me to stay."_

The ghost of those words drifted in and out…like the breeze. She'd kept the curtains closed but the tingling of gooseflesh along her arms signalled that the windows were still open – had been for days.

_He's not coming back._

Kurenai stiffened on the couch, felt the cool voice of reason bite deeper than the cold ever could and shivered, her breath stirring the frayed edge of the blanket pulled up to the bridge of her nose. She stared blankly at the window, watched the curtain flap.

"_If I fall to my death, tell them I did it with style. I'll be home later."_

A knifing pain, cutting upwards until the back of her throat ached with the strain of a single word unspoken. What good was it now? She hadn't said it then, couldn't bring herself to speak it now for all the good it would do.

"_You never ask me to stay."_

The curtains flapped again. The weak whistle of birdsong and the smell of damp soil from the flowerpots. No smoke, no heavy tread. She blinked, damp mascara lashes sticking in a mesh, blurring her vision enough to perceive a figure hunkered down in the opposite couch, broad and powerful, limned in moonlight…sometimes she swore she heard the metallic snap of a lighter, spied the brief ember burn and a blue ribbon of smoke trailing upwards. This always brought her gaze down to the edge of the couch where she'd encounter the three dark dots burned into the fabric. Three perfect little circles, tantamount to fingerprints. Evidence of life. Evidence of a presence now extinguished, now expired.

_Stop…_

She sucked in a breath, caught herself on the edge of another fruitless search. This forensic study of his presence wasn't healthy. And every unwanted discovery felt like a felonious act; as if her mind was working subconsciously to punish small but unforgiveable crimes of the heart. That one word.

"_You never ask me to stay."_

Kurenai squeezed her eyes shut. She swung her legs off the couch and rose in the same movement, letting the threadbare blanket crumple at her feet. She didn't step over it, felt the catch and drag of the fabric. Why make a bed she hadn't chosen to lie in? Yet every night she found herself exiled from the bedroom, wrapped up in blankets and bitterness. Her arms went around her stomach, resisted the urge to cling, squeeze, suffocate a life, smother a future she couldn't see herself living now that the light had been stolen from it.

"_Ask me why I stay."_

A scratch at the door.

She froze, let her gaze stray in a neglectful drift towards the threshold. A familiar snuffle sounded; a kind of animal sneeze before the canine sniff and low whine. Akamaru, perhaps.

"_Ninja hounds. Not a bad idea really."_

Kurenai's eyes darted away. Spine rigid, face stony, she traversed the cold familiar path that took her through the bedroom straight into the ensuite bathroom. She switched on the lights, avoided the stranger in the mirror and went down methodically – one knee at a time – into the habitual kneel, one hand snagging back a nest of tangled black strands, the other hand lifting the toilet seat. She bowed forward a fraction, braced for the painful lurch, the breathless strain of a dry heave.

A choked sound, but nothing followed it.

No shadow fell across her back, no awkward presence lingered in the doorway, shifting from one foot to the other with helpless uncertainty, no strong fingers combed through her hair or stroked down her sides.

_Nothing._

Just the absence…just the ache…

The sharp echo of a droplet struck water. Kurenai watched with detached intrigue as the black tear dissolved and another plummeted, spiralling and diluting into…

_Nothing._

She felt a pull more violent than nausea. She knew what came next. As familiar to her as the morning sickness, only it couldn't be forestalled, flushed away, forgotten…

"_Why can't you ask me?"_

Crumbling forwards, Kurenai lowered the seat lid, reached up a pale arm and groped blindly for the sink, her chipped nails sliding across the ceramic. Dragging herself up, she rose one shaking leg at a time, eyes wide and searching…scanning the pale expanse of the bowl before her gaze slipped off the safe white path and hit on the monkey-faced mug sitting at the side of the sink…where two toothbrushes sat, resting neck-to-neck, fuzzy bristles, minty grains…

"_Ask me why I stopped leaving."_

She felt the howl rising up. Kurenai pressed trembling fingers to her mouth until her teeth ached from the pressure. Her vision swam, a watery mess that washed the monkey-mug into a distorted grimace as ugly as the pain tearing into her expression.

"_You want me to go?"_

_Stop it._

She saw stars fizz and spiral, felt the wet sting slipping down her cheeks and the rapid-fire rush of breath, in and out, in and out.

"_Do you want me to go, Kurenai?"_

She lashed out, the back of her hand striking the mug with such unplanned violence that her entire body followed the movement. She felt herself go down as if in a dream, as if through water, slow but sure, until her palms struck the cold tile and the shatter of ceramic punctuated the single, heaving sob that ached out of her throat, strangling the one word she'd never spoken and still couldn't bring herself to say.

* * *

"Stay," Kakashi murmured.

The word, whisper-soft, seemed loud in the quiet hallway. He felt the ninken at his feet twitch and skimmed his palm over the sharp tips of his dog's ears. "You know when to leave, Ūhei."

So did he. Now. Quickly. And before he could consider the train of thought that had led him to skip a few black and white tracks and end up here, outside Kurenai's door. Ah, just how many rules had he broken?

"_Rule books, school books, Hatake."_

Kakashi took a half-step back, glanced over his shoulder as if to address a ghost – or look for his former self, which he'd have invited back into his body in an instant if he thought it'd change his choices. He shouldn't have come here. Hadn't really stopped to consider why he'd abandoned reason and broken the rules.

_I'm playing truant…_

He glanced skyward, his grey eye pinched, struggling between two expressions.

_Aren't you proud?_

Ūhei cocked his head up to follow his master's gaze, muzzle quivering with the beginnings of a whine. At the first hint of a whimper Kakashi's eye drifted shut – an unspoken plea. Immediately, Ūhei's whine pulled into a yawning huff of air and the dog lay at the foot of Kurenai's door, sniffing the gap that had produced no light from the other side ever since—

_The image of a headstone. Rain washing over the granite._

Kakashi reached up and cupped his left eye, wincing. The vision struck him sharper than the script of the name etched into the cold stone, emblazoned in Kakashi's mind with the chilling clarity of instant recall; courtesy of the Sharingan.

"_Sarutobi Asuma…has fallen…"_

The shatter of ceramic. An accompanying wail from within Kurenai's apartment.

Ūhei's head jerked up, soulful eyes staring from beneath expressive brows.

Kakashi stiffened, held temporarily suspended until the wail wrangled into a sob…and then he turned on his heel, retraced his silent steps back down the hallway and breathed against the tightness in his chest. Considering his heartstrings had almost been yanked out of his chest by Kakuzu barely four days ago, it was easy to convince himself the pain came from injury…the other explanation he couldn't bring himself to face.

_Not now._

His heartstrings felt like shoddy wires. A mess of thick, scarred cables tangled up in his chest, emotionally short-circuiting until the buzz of numb static forced him to question his own ability to feel.

_Have I lost the ability to grieve?_

He couldn't escape the question even as he worked to avoid it at every twist and mental turn. It had led to the robotic state of calm and control he'd fallen into since Kakuzu and Hidan's extermination…since Asuma's…

A twinge.

Kakashi reached up, rubbed at the knot in his sternum and huffed. Not quite short-circuiting after all. The stages of grief playing out in staggered patterns all around him urged him to consider his own pattern. But he knew better than to examine that now. If he let himself decipher it, it would not fit its usual design. And that would raise more questions, more complications he'd rather not subscribe to until he was certain he could afford to let himself wander off the beaten path and risk getting lost for a while.

_No time for soul searching._

There was too much left to do, too much left to consider…

_Too much you've left undone. _

Kakashi almost stopped walking, his brows going up as his brain staggered over the unbidden thought. Wait. What? Asuma's unfinished business wasn't his problem. He knew this on levels more familiar and fundamental to him than all the stages of grief combined.

_And yet…_

He paused, hands slotted into his pockets, a lone figure on the side-walk slick with rain, slippery with memory and swathed in shadow. All of this registered in the same moment it receded. The damp air clinging to his mask, making breathing heavy. An aura of misty drizzle spattering off the concrete, casting a fuzzy halo around silver strands and the sharp angles of his shoulders.

And then he caught the same movement that had stilled him on the spot.

A flicker out the corner of his eye.

Kakashi turned his head a fraction, squinting through the haze, lashes thick with rain. He glanced sidelong towards the shadows of Kurenai's apartment building and caught a glint of metal.

A brief wink in the darkness before it was gone.

_Genma._

* * *

"If Kakashi hadn't gone with them…do you think about that? I think about that. I replay it. Stops and starts like a damn film reel."

Shikaku hummed in accord and reached for the cup of saké without looking, knocking it back with a sharp tip of his head. The burn gave way to familiar numbness. Unfortunately, it didn't dull his senses enough to take the edge off Inoichi's words.

"And then I think about what she must be replaying in her head with Asuma. She has nightmares about it. I'm tempted to go in there and fix it." Inoichi held up his hands, warding off Chōza's narrow look. "Tempted. I wouldn't do it...but I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about it. Just change it enough to take away the pain."

Only there was no taking away the pain. It was about as fruitless as their current attempt at 'medicinal drinking' to stave off the infection taking hold.

_Misery_.

Contagious as ever.

Shikaku sighed. Slowly, his lashes drifted open and his surroundings came back into focus one milky shade of grey at a time; a line of fusuma panels washed in moonlight, a stack of plates and saké cups and the comforting berth of Chōza's shadow falling across the worn length of the table to eclipse both Shikaku's sharp wiry outline and Inoichi's long, lean silhouette.

He watched the Yamanaka's jaw tense as Inoichi rubbed at his lips, almost as if he wanted to recant his next words. "Selfish as it sounds," he muttered. "I think I envied him sometimes. Worried he was closer to my kid than I was. That's a different kind of bond."

Shikaku hummed again and lowered his shoulders, letting his chin drop to his chest to stretch out the tension cramping up the back of his neck. He said nothing.

"What if I can't provide that?" the Yamanaka pressed, spreading his palms as if laying down cards, frowning at his hand. "I don't think I can."

Chōza glanced between them, his heavy silence adding to the weight steadily building within the comfort of their familiar circle. The kind of weight that found pockets in Shikaku's posture, tightening muscles beneath the lax façade. His fingers found a knot, a tight squeeze later and he dropped his hand back to his lap, lidded gaze fixed on the centre of the table. Given the no-go state he'd locked his mind into he had nothing to add or subtract from Inoichi's mood and Chōza's mutual silence didn't help divide the thickening tension.

Inoichi sniffed, his voice light, dangerously so. "Am I the only one struggling with this?"

Chōza shifted. Shikaku heard the low creak of the tatami and he felt the Akimichi's gaze seconds before he glanced up to return it, shaking his head once. The exchange didn't go unnoticed.

"What?" Inoichi bit out, his voice rough and low, on par with his Torture and Interrogation persona. Not even saké could dull those instincts. "If you don't agree then damn well say so. This isn't a fucking soliloquy."

Shikaku sighed through his nose, long and low. He'd suspected as much from Inoichi tonight. Rare as these emotional outbursts were, Shikaku could often detect them brewing on Inoichi's normally steady horizon long before they hit. This particular storm had been building upon every question and comment the man had fired out as he'd rehashed their children's latest mission and the failure which had led them to execute it. Shikaku knew these details were vital to the Yamanaka. But once inebriated, Inoichi's meticulous attention to detail lost focus and said details required constant reiteration. But there were only so many ways and so many times Shikaku could go over the details until the dead ends of all the possibilities became as unproductive and pointless as wanting to rewind and rewrite the past.

_Impossible._

So why go over it?

To keep from answering that question he reminded himself why he'd allowed the Yamanaka to brainstorm it repeatedly. He'd known that a headache lay in lieu of heartache, but he'd come anyway. Come with Chōza to close ranks on the mutinous stir of doubt and uncertainty that'd taken root in all three of them. But pillars of support didn't always stand steady and right now the weight of expectancy and frustration in Inoichi's glare had Shikaku subconsciously tilting away.

"Doesn't it cut you up to see them li—"

"She's not a little girl anymore," Shikaku said, simple and blunt, to keep from a more complicated response. He couldn't go there. Not tonight. Not any night. Not even in the cold light of day.

Inoichi cocked his head as if he'd misheard, his brows drawing together. "What?"

Shikaku paused, his head tipped in consideration that went about as deep as the shallow smile he dredged up. "But then, I don't know much about daughters. Women aren't as predictable. I imagine it's different."

Inoichi stared for an incredulous second before shaking his head. "I imagined you'd be different."

"I think we all imagined a different night to the one we're having now," Chōza said. "It's been a troubling past few days."

Shikaku pursed his lips and raised his cup. "I'll drink to that."

"You always do."

"Inoichi," Chōza warned, placing a broad palm to the table, as if to steady the turbulence. "It's late. We've all had too much to drink."

"You're right." Inoichi intercepted Shikaku's saké with a backhander that sent the drink toppling across the tatami. "Why don't we all retire to sobriety with a 'cool head and agile mind'. That's what we came here for, no?"

The Nara froze with his hand half-way to his mouth, a dark brow etching upward. "That was childish."

"So is the Hyūga stiff upper lip."

"That might be a compliment in some circles."

Inoichi's mouth curved sourly, but the play of pain behind his eyes was unmistakeable. "Over thirty-three years of friendship and you think you can pull this shit with me? _Now_, of all times?"

"Timing is everything."

"Are you trying to insult me or piss me off?"

Chōza frowned. "Inoichi."

Shikaku stared at the centre of the table for a long minute then reached out to take the saké flask in both hands, palms facing down – his movements ceremonial and pointedly formal as he filled his friends' cups, not bothering to retrieve his own. "It's not personal."

"That's my point, Shikaku. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"No wind, no waves, old friend."

Inoichi threw up a hand, barking an incredulous laugh. "Did that little pearl come to you while lying prone on the couch or has your shrink prescribed fortune cookies instead of pills this time?"

"Inoichi!" Chōza hissed.

Shikaku stopped pouring, his entire body going still. Maybe the saké dulled his reaction time, or maybe time came to the same stop as his heart. He felt his brain staggering to a halt close behind. Peripherally, he heard Inoichi's sharp intake of breath. He became aware seconds later that Chōza had stopped breathing altogether.

The silence buzzed.

Shikaku sat back a little and took a moment to reassess exactly how the hell he'd allowed that comment to blindside him. Inoichi wasn't cruel by nature, far from it. But he was calculated. And he was drunk. A hazardous combination. Add the Yamanaka's talent with mind-control to Shikaku's penchant for mind games and they were a dangerous duo, especially when their wits and wiles were pit against each other – sober or not. Impersonal…or not.

Shikaku set the flask down, the soft clink of the ceramic as abrasive as a shatter.

Inoichi blinked wide, as if only just registering what he'd said. "Shit," he breathed the word through his fingers, carding the same hand back through his hair, shaking his head. "That was out of line."

Shikaku had almost forgotten a line existed. He'd gotten so good at creating boxes out of the intersecting lines of his life that everything always felt compartmentalised and cordoned off. Until a coffin or a cutting remark reminded him just how fragile these false frontiers could be…and just how fiercely he needed to reinforce them.

Chōza watched him from beneath heavy brows, voice soft, wary. "Shikaku."

Shikaku placed his palms to his knees, gave a single grave nod and unfolded his legs, rising in a languid sway, his body at total odds with the fixed lines of his expression.

Inoichi made to rise but Shikaku grasped his shoulder, fingers digging in almost brutally before softening into a reassuring squeeze. "Checkmate," the Nara husked.

He felt Inoichi's muscles roil, a brief moment of resistance that gave way to what Shikaku knew would be a lasting regret. The Yamanaka's expression pinched. "I cheated," he murmured.

Shikaku gave a rusty hum, patting the back of his friend's head with affection before turning towards the shadows, feeling them stroke across his feet and up along his calves as he raised his fingers to his lips, forming the Ram seal. "Sometimes we need to."

"_We_ never need to, Shikaku."

Shikaku paused as if to respond...then whispered _'kage-shunshin'_ and was gone.

* * *

TBC.

A/N: Surprise! Yes. I snuck it in there, all ninja like. This brief lift on my HIATUS to post up REQUIEM is in large part a massive THANK YOU to all of those faithful BtB readers who have given me such awesome support and encouragement with my writing even during my hiatus. I've returned to your reviews countless times to give me that much-needed boost. Your added support regarding my original works means more to me than I could think to communicate in a blog post, so I figured a BtB instalment would be a better way to express my thanks. My deepest appreciation for all your kind words, amazing feedback and continued support. Love you guys for it.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: NARUTO and its characters were created and are owned by Masashi Kishimoto. Original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement intended.

Title: REQUIEM

Pairings: ShikaNeji, Asuma/Kurenai, Shikaku/Yoshino

Rating: M / R (language etc.)

Genre: Angst/General

Summary: Death is a fate we all share, but grief can leave us divided. In the shadow of Asuma's death the shinobi of Konoha learn that grief, unlike death, isn't just a thief in the night – but a night in itself. (BtB series)

**Timeline**: Shippuden. Neji and Shikamaru aged 17-18 (post-Hidan and Kakuzu arc, pre-Invasion of Pain arc). Approx. 2 days after Hidan's burial.

* * *

**REQUIEM**

by Okami Rayne

**Chapter Two**

_A pawn is worth a thousand golds. _

Long, narrow fingers tapped the shogi pawn down. A single move. Decisive. Already determined. Already done.

_But without a gold in hand there is no defence. _

Those same fingers skimmed a broader piece…hesitated…hovered.

_But silvers have more possibilities for retreat._

Dark bistre irises slid across the grid, the strategy unfolding behind narrow, intelligent eyes. He wasn't thinking on the spot this time, he was pulling on the past. Or maybe the past was pulling on him. A tug-of-war game. Battlefields on the board.

_Silvers are the pivots of attack and defence. _

He took up the silver general, tried not to imagine it like a voodoo piece – personal, representative. He advanced in an oblique move. A borrowed move. A move he'd never look to make.

"_This kind of move is crazy risky. It's not like you."_

"_To penetrate the enemy's line, sometimes you have to risk a bold move."_

Shikamaru almost responded to the memory – to the ghost – lips parting, breath catching on the words he wished he'd said. He cleared his throat, the rasping sound barely breaking the silence of the small reception room. No light but the moonlight, filtering in through the open shoji door.

A night owl screeched, shrill as a woman's scream.

_He watched her go down on her knees, crimson eyes stricken, locked on him but looking straight through._

Blinking, Shikamaru refocused on the board. He drew up a leg and leaned in until his knee dug against his chest. He worked to deepen his shallow breaths.

_Focus. The silver general sacrifices itself to promote a pawn with devastating effect. Retaliation from the enemy is inevitable._

His fingers whipped up. He moved the opposing pieces into place, setting down an enemy pawn above the vital silver.

"_Climbing silver. It's not a role that suits you."_

He stared at the sacrificial piece, as ominous as a Ouija board counter…ready to slide across the board of its own volition, spelling out a fate he couldn't control.

"_Don't sweat it. I'm not gonna be the sacrificial piece. I've got you with me after all."_

_Yeah…and look how far I got you…_

Shikamaru's throat tightened. Pain lodged like a rock, forcing him to open his jaws until the hinges gave a warning twinge. He tried to focus and forget in the same instant, making way for that split-second fracture, allowing for a hiccup of banished thought to burst through unbidden.

"_Do it. Make your move, Shika. Nothing's easier."_

The words shivered through him, raising hairs, chilling blood, jerking his heart into his throat.

"_Do it."_

A shrill screech from outside.

Shikamaru started, his head whipping up so fast his eyes lost direction, swinging wildly back and forth until they struck a fluttering shadow. A blur and a watery blink later, the culprit came into focus.

He let out a shaky breath. "Stupid bird."

The peregrine falcon cocked its head, one onyx eye fixed on Shikamaru. Its talons scratched at the veranda as it hopped forward a pace, feathers ruffled from the rain, wings arched away from its narrow body, the plumage of its chest puffed in indignant complaint - as if the journey to harass the shadow-nin hadn't been worth the hassle or the hose-down.

Shikamaru dragged the back of his wrist across his forehead, tried to remember what had spooked him so bad and found nothing but a void in his brain…and then Asuma's face, resolving in painful swirls…wisps of memory spiralling from smoke into a full-blown smog…thick as the Burning Ash attack that had backfired and left Asuma bloody and burned.

_I could've stopped it._

But he hadn't stopped it. Hadn't even seen it coming. His gaze strayed back to the shogi piece which sat heavy on the board…waiting for his move…the move he'd never wanted. The move he'd have to make.

_No._

Yes. No way around it. This was how it went down. Then and now. Every time. Over and over.

"_No," _he mouthed the word.

There must've been another way. There was. There would be. He had to find it. Or formulate it. _Fix_ it.

"_I can't fix it."_

"_Fix what?"_

The falcon flapped, tottered sideways into the fusama panel with a frustrated squawk.

The distraction snatched Shikamaru back. He snarled but there was no heat in the sound. Gazing at his uninvited guest, he rubbed his thighs hard, scowling. The falcon turned one of its pointless little circles, tail feathers fanning out.

Shikamaru bowed his head and let out a breath. "Like god damned clockwork with you, isn't it?"

Another rustle. Another impatient squawk.

Shikamaru smiled a little. He pushed to his feet and approached the troublesome bird. "I don't have any food," he rasped.

The falcon bobbed its head in a vigorous nod.

Shikamaru sighed in response. "Troublesome."

Not as troublesome as the deep animal bellow that rang throughout the Nara forest, rolling on up towards the house like a summons. Shikamaru stiffened, nerves tightening at the base of his skull. His eyes strayed beyond the bird to the borders of the garden and the dewy green beyond, further across to the tree-line.

"_I'll never die… Even if you destroy my body, and I'm left with nothing but my head… I'll escape somehow… and when I do, I'll find you and bite your throat out!"_

Dark eyes narrowed.

Shikamaru stepped out onto the veranda, expression stoic as he gazed out into the drizzling darkness. Behind him, the comfort of the room promised a kinder cell than the one out there.

Another bellow, resounding long and low.

Shikamaru stood at the threshold for a long moment, the echo of the stag's call reverberating through him, his eyes fixed in a vacant stare.

A sharp chirp and the bird took flight, an arrow into the night.

Shikamaru broke from his stare, stepped onto the porch and into his sandals, leaving the unfinished past to rest in the shiny yellow plastic of a move he couldn't make.

* * *

Ino woke alone. Surprise registered fast, a little hitch in her chest. She brushed her hair from her eyes and swept an arm across the vacant space beside her, fingertips skimming the tangled lilac sheets. Nothing. No one.

But then, ghosts didn't leave warmth.

_Sensei…_

She'd been dreaming.

_Of Asuma. In my room. On my bed. Oh my god._

Embarrassment flushed through her. She cupped her warm cheeks, rolled onto her back and stared up through a flutter of flaxen strands. It took her a moment to focus in the semi-darkness. Eyes puffy and swollen, she reached up to sweep a thumb under each bright blue orb, her gaze following the pockmarks on the ceiling, testament to the glow-in-the-dark stickers she'd plastered onto her wall as a child. Most were peeling. Little half-moon crescents and broken stars…the ones she used to wish on.

_Guess I didn't wake up screaming then…_

One wish come true in a string of unheard prayers. She'd evaded the nightmare this time. No drama, no tears, no doors bursting inwards with parental ado – and more blessedly than all of this, no questions. There was only so much of her father's troubled gaze and quick-fire interrogation that she could take. And then there was her mother…telling her to cry softly into a handkerchief rather than her hands.

"_Hush, girl. Quietly. Have a little dignity."_

Hurt blossomed afresh. Ino made a face and tugged the blankets to her chin, knees drawing up. The pre-dawn stillness gave her a moment to consider the phantom activity of the night.

_Not the usual nightmare. _

Not a nightmare at all. No blood, no blistered skin, no laboured breathing or fading heartbeat. This time Asuma's presence had felt real for its casualness, its clumsiness…its sweetness. He'd materialised in that strange and unannounced manner that most people appeared in dreams. Ino had been pulling rose thorns out of her feet and hands when he'd sat beside her on the bed…awkward and unsure, scratching the back of his head in that familiar gesture of embarrassment, glancing around for verbal cues. But then, just as fast, he'd relaxed into the conversation…not of a word of which Ino could remember.

_Shoot!_

She thumped a fist to the sheets, gnarled and twisted the fabric. "Why?" she whispered, biting down on her lip when the tears pushed up, crowding her throat. "Damn it."

It must've been important. Significant. Maybe she could meditate over it. She'd been practicing dream recall, going over the night terrors that her subconscious kept throwing up. Distorted memories. Twisted truths. Funny how the mind worked, exaggerating the events, expounding the horror and adding injuries where there hadn't been any. She remembered Asuma's injuries; every punctured organ, every bleeding gash, every third degree burn.

_Sensei…_

Her palms tingled, turned clammy and cold.

_No. No. No._

Ino tugged the blanket up over her head, curled onto her side and whimpered the same apology that'd she'd screamed out every night since her sensei's death.

_I'm so sorry I didn't run faster…I'm so sorry I was too late..._

Chōji would understand her guilt. Shikamaru would hate her for it. But she wanted to tell him, wanted to apologise, wanted to see him react, respond, relinquish something…sadness, anger…anything…

_More than anything...just...don't leave me alone in this._

Restless, anxious, she crawled to the edge of the bed and hung her head over the side until the blood rush made her dizzy. Better the pounding in her head than the churning in her belly. She curled an arm around her stomach. She'd lost weight. Her mother had noticed, reacting with a combination of criticism and approval. Ino found it impossible to gauge whether it was concern or competitiveness driving her mother's running commentary on her appearance. But it wasn't her mom's fault really. She'd been on the brink of one of her spells ever since the funeral.

_It can't be easy for her either…_

Ino wasn't sure how or why that was true, but her conscience – childlike and scared – assured her that it was. That same innocent voice told her that Mom was like an orchid; of a unique and delicate disposition. Beautiful, elegant, temperamental.

Movement down the hallway, a brush of slippers across the tatami.

_Mom's up._

Spurred by the unusual activity, Ino climbed out of the bed, shedding the shorts and camisole she'd fallen asleep in. Combing her fingers through her long tangled strands, she pulled on a pair of lilac panties and a huge red t-shirt with the Akimichi clan symbol on it. Chōji had left it months ago during a sleep over and never reclaimed it. It hung down to Ino's knees, the neck wide enough to give an inadvertent off-the-shoulder look. Cute. She'd kept it. Though right now she'd have preferred being wrapped up in an Akimichi hug…even an uncomfortable Nara pat to the head, or that weird 'side-hug' thing that Shikamaru forced her to do when he wouldn't meet her head on.

_Emotional retard._

She smiled sadly.

A scuff sounded outside the window, the heavy tread followed by the jangle of keys.

_Daddy?_

Ino shot a glance at the clock and frowned.

_5:40 AM_

Nerves fluttered in her stomach. Or maybe that was acid. She hadn't eaten since…when? Another shuffle of movement down along the corridor and Ino's gut gave another tense gurgle. Then she heard it, the whispered hiss.

"Inoichi! What time do you call this?"

Approaching the bedroom door on the balls of her feet, Ino tiptoed through the tufts of an old purple rug that was now more threadbare than fluffy. Resting a palm to the doorjamb she leaned her head against the wood, listening out for the reply. Her father's voice rumbled from somewhere downstairs, the words muffled but the timbre unmistakably tense. Frustrated. Worn.

_Like the way he's looked at me these past few days._

She curled her fist against the door, knees quivering. God! Screw playing it strong. There was only so much she could brush off. She needed a shoulder. Two shoulders, preferably...and that failing, maybe two stubborn heads to bang together.

"_Chōji and Shikamaru, they're total goof-offs. Keep them in line."_

Ino lay her forehead against the door for a long moment, shutting her eyes against the onslaught of emotion. Recovering enough to steady her legs she turned towards her wardrobe and began to rummage, her quiet movements at odds with the sounds carrying from downstairs; the scrape of chair legs, the hollow whack of a mug, the slam of a cupboard, followed by the sharp, henpecking squawks of her mother.

Something thudded, a fist on the counter.

When the shouting started, Ino was already slipping out the window.

* * *

He'd slipped back into consciousness, but it was dark. Impossibly dark. And humid. His limbs tingled with pins-and-needles, making it difficult to discern where exactly he was hurting, broken or bleeding. He couldn't really feel his body. The paralysis didn't alarm him as much as the sensory deprivation.

Someone unplugged his ears.

Noise blossomed in faint and distant ribbons, forming loose patterns. The hum of something like a mosquito, buzzing in and out. But no echo or shift in volume, making it difficult to gauge distance or dimension.

He tried to summon his Byakugan. That, at the very least, should've been possible.

_Impossible._

The pain that exploded in his head disallowed it. He grunted, tried to turn his chin and felt spikes biting into his temples…and then the voice came again, a deep baritone rumbling at his ear.

"I can make it stop. Or start. So can you."

Neji stilled, stared into the blackness of the blindfold and tried again to channel his chakra, felt instead a pulse throbbing behind his eyes, a flurry of auric flashes…like the onslaught of a migraine. He let out a slow breath through his nose.

"What is your team strength?" the voice demanded.

Neji licked his cracked lips. "Hyūga Neji, Jōnin."

"Who hired you?"

Neji repeated his name and rank.

"Where do you plan to rendezvous with your team?"

Neji said nothing.

"You have a high threshold for pain, don't you? But even the nerves have to shut down eventually. Yours already have. I know you can't feel your body."

Neji smiled grimly. "Hyūga Neji, Jōnin."

"Let's try this again, shall we?"

Neji expected another round of questions, a slow return to feeling and pain, one broken body part at a time…not the odd pressure at the base of his skull, building, building...until agony uppercut through bone and membrane, exploding as if from the inside of his head, slamming into his brow.

The curse mark burned.

Neji jerked but the restraints he couldn't feel restricted his movement to a pitiful ripple against the torture wheel. Wheel? Ah yes. He remembered now. Though he couldn't recall whether he was hanging from it or had been tied down and spread eagle. How long had he been here? Hours?

_Days?_

"I can make it longer," the voice said, soft, almost sympathetic. "You can make it less."

He felt the pain in his head tighten like pincers around his brain, threatening to crack him open like walnut. Not the same as the pain from the curse mark. This was a failed attempt at replication. But damn if it didn't hurt.

_Bastard._

"My parents, as it happens, were happily wed when I was conceived," the voice said, adopting an entirely different tone – less cunning, more conversational. "Shall we talk about _your_ father, Hyūga Neji? He might as well have been a bastard, given his expulsion from the Main House."

Neji pressed his lips, felt the chapped skin split and suckled the blood, his words gritted out from behind bloody teeth. "Hyūga Neji, Jōnin."

"Jōnin? That's not the position you want, is it? Tell me what you want."

_Hyūga Neji, Jōnin._

_I can hear everything…maybe I should dig deeper, pull your mind inside out and empty all your secrets onto the table. Exhibit your pride, your pain, your guilty pleasures. I can make you want to tell me. You believe me, don't you?_

The pain in Neji's skull intensified. He felt his face swell with the pressure, ears ringing until he could no longer hear that voice. Moisture burned his nostrils and something warm and wet slicked his upper lip. His tongue darted out. Blood.

And then another man spoke; a rusty nail in Neji's brain. "Enough."

The pain stopped. In an instant, every ache and agony sucked out of his body like hot air from a pressure cooker, leaving him in a state of odd suspension…floating…empty…

And then a pinprick of light. It ripped sideways, tearing away the dark. It took him a moment to register his blindfold had been sliced off. He had to shut his eyes against the startling light, groaning.

Someone stepped close and he felt cool fingers at his wrist and neck, checking his pulse. A damp cloth dabbed beneath his nose. A female whisper and a gruff hum of approval.

"Open your eyes, Hyūga."

Neji slipped his lashes open, squinting.

Ibiki's face loomed over him, the scarred features exaggerated in the stark light. His lips pulled into a smirk. "How do you feel?"

How did he feel? Sore, sweaty, sick…marginally violated. Neji pressed his eyes shut, cataloguing his body's slow return to feeling - and reality. He was drenched in sweat, his muscles stiff and aching, wrists and ankles raw from whatever subconscious fight his body had put up against the restraints while he was under. It was difficult to tell how much was real and how much was phantom pain from the genjutsu.

"Focus," Ibiki commanded. "Do you know where you are?"

Neji blinked, lifted his chin from his chest and nodded, frowning at the flop of damp strands across his face. His headband had been removed. The exposure of the curse mark bothered him less than the fact that Ibiki had thought to use it against him. Although, given the purpose of this exercise it wasn't all that surprising.

_Can you still read my thoughts?_

No response.

_Good. Sadistic bastard._

Neji flexed his fingers and stared down at his feet. Ah, yes. He was standing. Well…hanging. He was also exhibiting far more than the curse mark. Belatedly, his brain stuttered over his state of undress.

Ibiki snorted. "Shy?"

Scowling, Neji tensed against the wheel as the medic-nin who'd checked his pulse began to unfasten his restrains and unblock his tenketsu. He sensed Ibiki's blatant, mocking stare and flicked his eyes back up, moonstone orbs boring into the tokubetsu jōnin's jet black eyes.

Ibiki hummed, a flicker of amusement picking up in the twitch of his lip. "Thank you."

Neji frowned, his voice croaking out. "For what?"

"For whatever you did to piss off Nara Shikaku. It made this little date of ours a helluva lot more entertaining."

Neji parted his lips to respond only to collapse forward when his arms were released. Not his most graceful recovery. But then, his limbs felt like lead. Heavy and unresponsive. The medic-nin caught him at an angle, draping his arm over her shoulders.

"Slowly," she advised.

Ibiki gave a grim laugh. "I'd say walk it off, but you might need a while for your brain to catch up with your body. Sit down. Reacquaint yourself with the control I _let_ you keep."

Neji glared up through his bangs, eyes icy in their whiteness. He had no words to combat Ibiki's arrogant claim…and no conviction to contest it. For all he knew, Ibiki would've made good on his threat to empty Neji's metaphorical brains all over the table. In this sadistic game, the safe word was whatever Shikaku deemed it to be…

_Shikaku._

Damn. He knew he'd recognised that rusty timbre.

"_Enough."_

Neji sank to the floor, ignoring the medic-nin as she went about checking his eyes and administering a quick jab to the crook of his arm. He was still reeling over the knowledge that Shikaku stood behind the one-way mirrored wall behind Ibiki. Had Shikaku been present for the entirety of this training session? Would he have remained present if Ibiki had begun strip-mining Neji's brain? The panic that inspired had Neji's face paling a few dangerous shades, prompting the medic to check him over and take his pulse. Gods, if Shikaku had got a glimpse of what lay behind the barriers in his mind he'd not only have been hung…he'd have been drawn and bloody quartered.

_That can't happen._

He'd have to find a way to train his mind and strengthen any exploitable weaknesses in his defence…and he could think of only two people to assist him with said mental training. One candidate was immediately ruled out – for reasons too deep and raw to contemplate right now. This left an unpredictable, blonde-haired, loud-mouthed, blue-eyed shinobi…a prospect which provoked more uncertainty than confidence. But then, he'd underestimated people before.

Besides, it's not as if he had a choice.

Neji smiled dryly at the thought.

_Story of my life._

* * *

"I'm sorry, Kakashi senpai, you'll need a permit from the Hokage to access the subbasements."

Kakashi shot a sideways look at the chūnin barring his path, then slid his gaze across to the adjacent figure who'd addressed him. He held out his palms in innocence, inviting the other man to relax.

"I'm not here to rifle through data. Just following up a loose lead."

Kotetsu gazed back, unsmiling. "No can do. Following a lead is still grounds for authorization. Accessing the archives for investigative purposes requires the Hokage's sanction."

Kakashi pulled his head back a fraction, hip cocked as he reached into his back pocket. Kotetsu's use of official vocabulary in lieu of his lazy colloquialisms indicated just how far Kakashi wasn't going to get by playing it light – which didn't stop him from pulling a dog lead out of his pocket and holding it out to them.

Kotetsu frowned, his red-shot eyes squinting in irritation. "What's that?"

"My loose lead."

"Are you being funny?"

"Not at all. What's normally attached to this lead is currently running loose in the subbasements."

Kotetsu exchanged a glance with Izumo, then levelled Kakashi with a suspicious slit-eyed stare. "The only thing that's loose is the screw in your head if you think we're gonna fall for that."

A high-pitched howl resounded from the inner sanctums of the library.

Both chūnin came to attention like dogs on point, jerking around in unison.

Kakashi watched them flounder for a moment then shifted his stance, taking advantage of their flat-footedness to gain a toehold. With a shift of lithe muscle his entire aura changed, his lax stance tightening, expression hardening, shoulders drawing back, chest expanding. His easy tones gained a dangerous edge. "Now, if you're so concerned about security, you might want to invest time checking the crawl space vents around the perimeter to avoid legitimate threats. A good thing it's my ninken lost down there and not some sinister, data-thieving spy without a warrant."

Kotetsu whirled around, mouth tearing open, ready to snap out a response. Kakashi's arched brow caused the chūnin to draw up short and for a moment Kotetsu looked startled, as if surprised by his own vehemence. He took a half-step back and looked across at Izumo, a subconscious search for reassurance.

Izumo didn't look any less stable, his visible eye flying wide. Both appeared mortified at their inability to keep an animal off the premises. But Kakashi sensed their sense of failure went much, much deeper. The transparency of their distraction and grief almost caused the copy-nin to reconsider his approach.

_Sorry, kids. I don't have time for fair play._

His grey eye narrowed in barely-concealed impatience. "Now, if you'll let me get my runaway canine, I'll be on my way."

Izumo cleared his throat, shaking his head. "We still need the—"

Sighing, Kakashi threw up a hand in flippant dismissal. "By all means, feel free to retrieve the pup yourself. You'll be doing me a favour."

"Pup?" Kotetsu said.

"Favour?" Izumo added.

Kakashi hummed and shot a harassed look towards the sky. "6 months. They're all rampant hormones, sharp teeth and manic energy at this stage." He glanced back down, leaning in. "A word of warning before you embark. Don't approach him from behind, or let him get behind you…come to think of it, he doesn't do well with being cornered from the front either. You'll have to snatch him from above, which will be interesting if he's stuck in a vent somewhere."

"Stuck in a vent," Kotetsu parroted. "Seriously?"

Izumo huffed, gaining some of the confidence he'd lost. "If he's that small I think we can handle him."

Kakashi blinked, deadpan as ever. "It's not his size…it's what he does with it."

_"You need to stop reading those books."_

The ghost of Asuma's voice came so suddenly and so unexpectedly that Kakashi almost barked a self-conscious laugh before remembering he was currently mid-mission. He reached up to scratch the bridge of his nose, appearing casual and in control. The sad twinge behind his ribs almost took his breath.

"Crap," Izumo hissed, glancing over his shoulder before rubbing at his neck, caught in a moment of inner debate. Kakashi recognised the look. It was the one he wore when cross-referencing conscience, convenience and the rule book.

Kotetsu didn't share his partner's deep deliberation and instead took one glance between Kakashi and the door before waving the copy-nin into the building. "Go on."

Izumo stiffened. "Kotetsu."

"I'm not getting my ass chewed on or my leg humped by some pubescent mutt," Kotetsu snarled. "It's Kakashi senpai's problem. He can deal with it."

If anyone needed to deal with their problems, it was Kotetsu. Kakashi studied each chūnin in turn, a ripple of soft understanding playing behind the steely barrier of his cool grey gaze.

_Asuma's death has hit them hard._

Kotetsu turned back towards him, waving him on again. "We didn't see you, or your pooch."

Kakashi gave a half-shrug and made a purposeful show of wrapping the leash around his wrist before strolling on through. He sensed Izumo turning and prepared for his entrance to be barred only to hear Kotetsu snap at his partner's heels, redirecting the other chūnin.

Kakashi didn't glance back, but continued on his way. He made a quick beeline towards a side door at the end of the furthest corridor, taking a long wide staircase that descended in sharp angles and broad plateaus, narrowing down the deeper it led until Kakashi reached the huge iron door to the subbasements. He drew back the heavy bolt and pushed. Metal groaned and hinges squealed. The strong smell of mildew and fusty papers assaulted him…along with a split-second's hesitation.

"_You don't have to play truant just because I am, Kakashi."_

_"I'd like to think of it more as playing devil's advocate."_

_"Devil's advocate huh? Gee, does that make me the bad guy?"_

"_Sounds to me like you're trying to catch the bad guy__."_

Before Kakashi could reflect further on that conversation or second-guess what the hell _he _was trying to catch – other than a ghost – he stepped into the narrow corridor. The long, humid tunnel stretched ahead in a patchwork of darkness and sallow light. Bulbs hummed on the walls, their weak dusty glow flickering and fading further along the passageway.

Pocketing the leash, Kakashi pulled out a penlight, depressing the end with his thumb.

A sharp beam cut through the gloom, guiding the way as he began to traverse the corridor, taking note of all the tributaries branching off into other hallways, open rooms or sealed archives. Quite the rabbit warren. He could get lost down here for hours…wondered, briefly, whether Asuma had stood here, feeling the same sense of futility in the face of such an uncertain task.

_A task that has absolutely nothing to do with me._

Yet here he was. And there was no sense in dawdling.

Kakashi gave a low whistle. The sound pierced the darkness ahead as if following the path of the penlight's beam. For a long moment there was nothing but the buzz of the struggling fuses. And then the soft pad of paws echoed off the walls, amplified by the stillness.

"Don't ever ask me to do that again," a voice complained from the shadows ahead, gruff and scratchy.

Kakashi tilted his wrist, letting the flashlight beam settle just to the side of the small pug sat in the centre of the corridor. "If the broom fits…" the copy-nin began.

Pakkun half-snorted, half-sneezed, dust motes and mucus spraying the cheap linoleum. "Ugh. I doubt this place has seen a broom in decades. I'm not crawling through those vents again."

"You needed a good airing."

The pug shuddered, fur bristling along his neck. "You have no idea. I got stuck in there. Took a lot of energy to propel myself out."

"Really?" Kakashi drawled. "However did you manage?"

"Farted really hard."

Silence reigned for the full five seconds it took for Kakashi to imagine it…graphically. He gave his dog a dirty look.

Pakkun huffed. "You asked. I answered."

Shaking his head, the copy-nin redirected the topic. "Did you find anything?"

Pakkun sniffed, went very still as if fighting off another sneeze, then grunted. "Scent's faint, but Asuma was definitely down here."

"Where?"

"You sure you wanna know?"

"I ask. You answer."

"This isn't like you, Kakashi."

"Agreed. Now show me where."

Pakkun examined the pads of his paws for an idle moment, then cocked his head up at his master. "What's the magic word?"

"Don't be pugnacious."

Pakkun cringed at the awful pun. "Oh, you're hilarious," he grumbled. But then the dog's expression softened. "You ought to do it more often, you know."

Kakashi's amusement evaporated. He jerked his wrist in an impatient flick, using the flashlight to signal.

Pakkun rolled his eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh before he turned to pad back down along the corridor. "Follow."

The copy-nin trailed behind, letting the penlight's narrow beam streak along the wall. He kept his gaze fixed on the glint of Pakkun's hitai-ate as the dog trotted ahead, leading Kakashi down two winding corridors before ducking left into an open room.

"Here."

Kakashi stepped in behind, leading with the light.

The beam glanced off rows of filing cabinets which lined the room on either side. Windowless, stuffy, the low corners of the ceiling wreathed with cobwebs. Kakashi swung the beam back down, hitting upon a capsized table to one side of the room. It was cracked down the centre. Upturned boxes were strewn in the immediate vicinity, victims of the table's quick upheaval. A toppled metal chair rested a few feet away and a couple of gooseneck lamps lay in cold repose, the bulbs shattered.

_All right, Asuma...time to kiss and tell._

Yawning silence, bar the gurgle of pipes behind the walls.

Pakkun stepped partially into the beam of the flashlight, his wrinkly brow furrowing into a deep animal frown. "There was another person here, but they've used a cover scent. A gland extract. Deer, from the smell of it."

Kakashi hummed distractedly, though his mind immediately filed the information. He skirted around a couple of boxes, eyes casting about for clues, sweeping the light across the dusty metal surfaces of the filing cabinets, glancing over paper trays and discarded pens until the beam struck a massive crater.

_There._

Kakashi stepped over, reaching up to uncover his Sharingan eye, letting the red orb focus and fix on the large jagged hole punched into the top of one of the cabinets. Holding the light steady in his left hand, he swept his free palm across the ragged dent, his fingers tracing out the saw-toothed edges of the puncture.

_A serrated blade._

He took a wild guess that Asuma's trench knives had seen some action. But why would he draw them in here? Kakashi's gaze lingered on the cabinet as he ran through possible scenarios.

Frustration? A fight? An epically failed attempt to open a locked cabinet?

_Grasping at straws, Hatake._

He looked closer. No chakra impact. Asuma had pulled his punch on this hit. A normal blow would have bisected the entire cabinet.

_If he lodged the blade in frustration that begs the question of why he even drew the weapon in the first place. And if he'd drawn the knife in confrontation then his redirected swing into the cabinet would've put his back to the threat. _

Leaving himself wide open for attack from behind. Unease twisted through Kakashi in ribbons as icy as the chill that slithered down his spine.

_There's only one reason he would do that…_

Kakashi took a step back and half-turned, twisting his torso just enough to angle the light over his shoulder and glance directly behind, trying to imagine who might've stood there, staring at Asuma's turned back. As his mind scrolled through possibilities, he shone the beam across the opposite row of cabinets, then higher up along the walls until the light reflected back at him in a tiny wink.

Kakashi froze.

In the time it took for that wink of light to register, he understood with blinding clarity who else had been in here with Asuma.

But he had to know for sure.

He twitched his wrist and was met with the same flicker. Tiny. A mere pinprick against a backdrop of yellowed plaster and a large peeling map.

Hoping against instinct and intellect, Kakashi closed distance in slow, cautious strides, his Sharingan swirling as he cocked his head to one side, memorising and imprinting the image of the large map half-hanging off the wall. Reaching out, he smoothed his hand across the crumpled atlas until the side of his palm struck a nail.

_Wishful thinking._

Not a nail. A senbon. Its lethal point lodged into the map, marking a site just to the side of Kusagakure. Kakashi noted the location then plucked the thin needle from the map, turning it around in his fingers, examining the blunt end before tapping his thumb against the sharp point.

He let out a quiet breath into the silence. _"_Damn," he whispered.

Pakkun stopped riffling in one of the boxes and glanced up, ears pinned, muzzle twitching. "What did you find?"

What he'd hoped he wouldn't. But what he'd known he would.

"Genma."

* * *

TBC.

**A/N:** Plot. We love it. Pills. We pop them. Or maybe that's just me. My fellow crazies who have joined me for this ride, I salute you and I thank you. Reviewers, you guys made (and continue to make) my day brighter in ways what go beyond words. Thank you so much for the incredible reception you guys gave me for the last chapter. I still get a unique case of the nerves with every first chapter I post – to have had such an encouraging and welcoming response from you after my months of hiatus really struck a chord. **Thank you.** It's always a joy and always a pleasure to know you guys are enjoying the mayhem as much as I enjoy making it. Love, tea, and onwards!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: NARUTO and its characters were created and are owned by Masashi Kishimoto. Original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement intended.

Title: REQUIEM

Pairings: ShikaNeji, Asuma/Kurenai, Shikaku/Yoshino

Rating: M / R (language etc.)

Genre: Angst/General

Summary: Death is a fate we all share, but grief can leave us divided. In the shadow of Asuma's death the shinobi of Konoha learn that grief, unlike death, isn't just a thief in the night – but a night in itself. (BtB series)

**Timeline**: Shippuden. Neji and Shikamaru aged 17-18 (post-Hidan and Kakuzu arc, pre-Invasion of Pain arc). Approx. 2 days after Hidan's burial.

* * *

**REQUIEM**

by Okami Rayne

**Chapter Three**

He sought her out where he'd first seen her, over 25 years ago. Her face, sculpted in delicate angles, still retained its youth despite the scarred and weathered stone; slanted eyes still soft, bow lips still tilted in that wry, knowing smile.

"_I am his mother. __Forget to remember anything else, Shikaku, but don't you dare forget that. I am his _mother_."_

Shikaku brushed his knuckles beneath his jaw, studying the granite goddess from his perch on the backless stone seat, elbows propped on his knees, head down and eyes hooded. The peace he'd once found here eluded him now. No surprise, no disappointment. Just acceptance. Practised acceptance; because not everything that seemed effortless came easy.

But the silence did.

Tucked beneath the dripping canopy of a large red maple, obscured by overgrown foliage and aerial roots, the quiet grotto went mostly unnoticed, mostly forgotten despite the fame of the large gardens. It had become insignificant, inconsequential...just like the shrine and its presiding statue.

Kwan Yin.

Shikaku had commissioned the exact sandstone replica for his own residence after Yoshino had slipped into one of her strange silent spells after the Sandaime's death. Now, with another Sarutobi gone, it took on a different meaning…far more profound and painful than the original purpose of Shikaku having wanted to provide some kind of shelter. Somewhere for Yoshino to lay her pain, her prayers. Somewhere that wasn't the cold altar of Shikaku's chest...somewhere for her to let the tears flow unchecked...to let it go, to let it out...

_"I need _you _to let it out, Shikaku…"_

_"You know why I can't do that."_

Shikaku squinted, rolled a burnt-down cigarette between his knuckles and brought it to his lips, hand cupped over his mouth. He took a shallow pull, not drawing it all the way in – just enough to get a hint of the old poison. He exhaled almost immediately, a rough puff through his nose. He hadn't smoked in years. Promised he wouldn't. Tried not to think about how many times during those rare Shogi matches back when Asuma was a young, rebellious kid, that he'd stared at the ember end of the Sarutobi's cigarette, beating back the urge to ask for a drag.

_Wasn't your time, Asuma._

Shikaku breathed quietly into the rain.

_Not by a long shot._

But the shots kept coming. And shinobi kept falling. One close call led to one kill too many. And even then, the killing kept on. Incessant. Like the tide of mental chatter inside Shikaku's mind. Incessant. Like the irritating tingle at the back of his neck.

He didn't like being watched.

But he hadn't expected to pass the time here unnoticed. Honestly, he would've been disappointed, maybe even disturbed, if he had.

Shikaku flicked the cigarette into the drizzle, watched the damp end plummet into the mulch beneath his feet and focused on the presence behind. He'd sensed the man the moment he'd crossed the threshold into the private grotto approximately five minutes back. Shikaku had ignored him, waiting for the other ninja to make the first move.

After another tense minute, his patience paid off.

"Your arrogance is astounding, Shikaku."

Shikaku's lip quirked, his gaze trained on the statue. "Yet you've been voyeuristically admiring my arrogance for the past five minutes." Then, for old time's sake, he added, "Beyond reach and reproach."

A low hum rolled out into the silence. "A hollow threat, Nara? Even restrained Hyūga men take exception to that."

Shikaku smiled at the ghosting echo of their former words to each other. He hadn't expected Hiashi to play along – and because of this, he sensed the thinly veiled danger. "Do I detect a long-lost sense of humour?"

"You've long-lost your senses altogether if you believe I'll stand for this impertinence."

Shikaku patted the stone bench beside him. "Then take a seat."

Hiashi didn't so much as twitch at the flippancy, his shadow fixed against the pale dewy grass. Shikaku took instant stock of the mood, revising it carefully. This was the Hyūga's domain, after all. Hiashi would not suffer himself to be played or positioned anywhere other than where he chose to stand – or stew. His displeasure was a palatable entity at Shikaku's back. Despite this, the Nara relaxed his guard a little. Chose to let it unfold. It never hurt to leave a little up to chance. Although, chances were that the Hyūga ability to stonewall might outlast the Nara ability to detach and disengage the brain.

And Shikaku felt anything but detached right now.

_Childish. _

Rain hissed into the ensuing silence, taunting as an adult's 'shhhh'. God, but it _did_ feel childish. Sitting here, waiting it out for the sake of getting under the impenetrable Hyūga skin. And in a way, Shikaku found a fleeting comfort in that. The same kind of liberation Inoichi must have felt in lashing out earlier. But the feeling was gone before he could grip it…or go with it.

And then Hiashi finally spoke, his smooth voice as neutral as water, not a ripple of emotion. "My brother showed you this place."

Shikaku nodded. "I remember how thrilled you were about that."

"I'll admit it did confound me," Hiashi said, his aggression tempered…almost making him sound agreeable for a moment. And then he recovered. "He tolerated your indolent presence for reasons that escape me."

"What else escapes you, Hiashi?" Shikaku returned. "Your nephew, perhaps?"

"And again you go too far. You always did where my family was concerned."

The Nara smoothed a hand across his mouth to staunch his amusement, but he couldn't keep it from his voice. "I never could resist the temptation of an unsolvable puzzle."

"Hn. And my brother was foolish enough to play your games."

"Ah, but you see..." Shikaku loosened his smoke-over-rocks chuckle, rising up and turning, a depreciating little smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. "Hizashi was never the puzzle, Hiashi. You were."

Hiashi's jaw ticked hard, white eyes crystalizing into chips of impenetrable glass – a one-way mirror. "The ice is very thin beneath your feet, Nara."

On par with the threat the ground seemed to shift between them, uprooting hidden tactics, reluctant truces, former travesties and an unmarked tomb, filled with bitter skeletons to exploit.

Shikaku checked himself ruthlessly.

He hadn't come here for this. Even in the past, he'd avoided using Hizashi's sacrifice as a spearhead in any confrontation with Hiashi. What was the point in starting a war over a bitterly wasted life? There were already too many fresh bodies littering the field.

_No need to disrespect the dead._

He and Hizashi had never been close, but they'd connected for a time...until Hizashi had disconnected from everything and everyone. It struck Shikaku then, how parallel their paths had been.

"Neji," Shikaku redirected, veering away from the cordoned off road. "ANBU want him."

Hiashi blinked very slowly. "I'm aware that he was propositioned."

"Are you aware that he accepted?"

Not even a tic in that iron jaw. Hiashi said nothing. Betrayed nothing. Least of all where Neji stood in relation to the rest of the clan.

Surprise wormed its way into Shikaku's mind, unearthing instant suspicion. He certainly hadn't expected this. "This blind eye you've decided to turn…" he began, watching, weighing his words. "Is it shared by your elders?"

Hiashi's smile was cold. "Jōnin Commander you may be, but you're far from possessing the power – however underhanded – to extend your shrewd little scalpel into the heart of my clan or its politics."

"That you'd associate your family with politics is precisely why such underhanded measures are in place." Shikaku tipped his head in reproach. "We wouldn't want history to repeat itself."

A low blow. And it struck true.

Hiashi's nostrils flared, but he composed himself in the same breath. "Be very careful who you choose to affiliate us with, Nara. The Uchiha were a separate breed."

"With similar domestic tendencies." Shikaku held up a hand as if to ease the impact of his next words. "It's not personal, Hyūga. After the Uchiha incident with Itachi any clan possessing a history of strict traditional practices is suspect when it comes to recruiting ANBU operatives. Especially when those practices create dysfunction between members of the clan."

"And you call that crude assessment _impersonal_?" Hiashi's lip curled in a condescending sneer so delicately sculpted that it looked as refined as a smile. Ugly as resentment was, it didn't touch the rich and elegant way in which the Hyūgas expressed it. "How easy it must be for you to judge," Hiashi uttered. "The trusted Jōnin Commander, ever above suspicion and never under its knife."

No blow could have struck truer - or lower - than that.

Shikaku's eyes flashed wide, blazing white around the irises before his gaze narrowed into two onyx chips. Without thinking, he turned his head to display the scars carved into his face. All the while his eyes never left Hiashi's, forcing their gazes to lock at an almost vulnerable angle – as if Shikaku were exposing his throat rather than his face. "You think I escaped that knife, Hyūga?" he husked. "You think I got these scars from a _righteous_ battle?"

Hiashi stiffened at the hoarse words, regarding the stripes of rugged scar tissue in a single glance. A fracture of uncertainty appeared between the Hyūga's brows until, by slow degrees, the ice around his snow-white eyes began to thaw.

Shikaku spoke fast, taking control to keep from wondering if he'd briefly lost it. "Neji has entered the induction phase." He slid a hand into his pocket, eyes hooded. "Psychological evaluation and re-programming is an on-going process throughout this preliminary period. It can last anything from up to six months to two years, provided the candidate is stable enough to endure it." He paused to allow Hiashi to intercede. When he didn't, Shikaku went on. "Experience, however, is the real teacher. It starts and gets harder from there. Sometimes that's where it ends altogether."

Hiashi said nothing for a long moment, his brow still furrowed. "I don't see the purpose of this exchange, Nara. Why are you telling me this?"

Shikaku considered the question, watching the rain fly like sparks off Hiashi's shoulder before he glanced back up. "You're the closest thing that kid has to a father."

If Hiashi was surprised, he hid it well. No subtle sneer or narrowing stance, no outward disgust at the emotionalism of the statement. He simply returned Shikaku's steady look in silence, one hand folded around the wooden bokken he carried, the other tucked into the neat fold of his robe.

He offered up nothing into the silence.

But Shikaku sensed a subtle communication in the way Hiashi's eyes strayed to the left, indicating that he may've been revisiting his past – or maybe he was just looking at the statue. It was always challenging to read Hyūgas by their eyes. Their lack of pupils often misconstrued the subtle nuances.

When Hiashi finally spoke, his voice was very low. "You played us incorrectly, while attempting to solve your puzzle."

It took a lot to keep from wondering where the hell that statement came from. Shikaku arched a mental eyebrow, made certain he kept his voice flat. "Played you incorrectly?"

"You were no different to the elders in that respect." Hiashi paused, cocked his head as if revising his accusation. "Although I imagine your intentions were somewhere to the side of noble…at least where Hizashi was concerned. But you made the same mistake that most strategists do with twins when attempting to isolate them from each other." The Hyūga stalled, his pale eyes ghosting back towards Shikaku. "Can you guess what it was?"

Instantly, blindingly, like lightning through his mind.

Shikaku didn't have to guess. He knew. And the knowing left him cold. With sudden, startling precision, it all fit together in his mind, pushed into place by the quick hands of hindsight. It was so mockingly simple, so blatantly _clear_, that only the arrogance of youth or the stubbornness of age could've missed it. Little wonder Hiashi had compared him to those old bastards, little wonder the Hyūga had despised him, shunned him, cursed him at the time...

_And little wonder we wound up where we are today._

Hiashi must have seen the realisation steal across the Nara's face, for he raised his chin, tapping down the bokken and twisting it into the ground like a knife into an old wound. "Tell me what you did, Nara."

Shikaku's eyes drifted shut, a futile laugh ghosting from his lips, hollow and without humour. "I played you off against each other…when you were never designed to be in conflict."

An indrawn breath – as if Hiashi had been waiting a long time to hear those words – and then he inclined his head, a sideways tilt that didn't allow him to agree with Shikaku, only acknowledge the sad truth of the words. "We were cut from the same cloth, after all."

_The same cloth. The same cell._

Shikaku's brows tugged together softly, eyes drifting open. "Why tell me?"

"So that you may know with unshakeable certainty that you never truly understood my brother and that any hope you ever had of understanding me went with him when he died."

A final line. And it marked a fair boundary, all things considered.

The Nara shook his head, sighing. "I wouldn't have called you an unsolvable puzzle if I thought I could figure you out, Hyūga. Sometimes the game is simply the guesswork."

Maybe it was the glibness of the comment that did it, but Hiashi's temples gave a violent twinge, the skin around his eyes exploding into a network of bulging veins.

Shikaku straightened up and shifted sideways, prepared for anything.

Hiashi took a single stride forward, leading with one broad shoulder, head down, an animal ready to charge before he blinked hard, banishing the Byakugan back into dormancy. Back into control. "Is it not enough for you to be an observer of my clan's confliction? Or will you not be satisfied until you're an active participant?" Hiashi seethed, his voice as tight as a coiled spring, icy composure cracking around the lines of his mouth and at the corners of his eyes. "Why do you insist on challenging me?"

Shikaku's dark eyes were slits now. "Because you can pass back the blame as far as you want, as many generations as you want, to justify why you still feel chained to it, but it must end." Shikaku jerked his chin towards the Hyūga compound that lay beyond. "And that end must start somewhere."

"Indeed," Hiashi replied coolly. "But it doesn't start here." He punctuated the finality of that statement by turning his back, spine straight, shoulders squared. "Do not cross me on this issue again, Shikaku. The next time you do, I will finish the battle you and Hizashi never concluded. And you will lose."

If it had not been so sad, Shikaku might have smiled at the familiarity of that promise. As it was, he simply shook his head. "So be it."

* * *

_Breaking and entering…_

Well, he'd certainly thrown himself into the role of truant without a backward glance.

"What's next?" Pakkun asked, taking shelter beneath the tree Kakashi currently leaned against, squinting up at the copy-nin from beneath rolls of furrowed fur. "Arson? Kidnapping? Maybe you want me to defecate on Genma's pillow?"

Kakashi cocked his head down at his ninken. "Unless your bowel movements are propelling you out of vents to do my bidding, we don't need to discuss them."

"Kakashi, what's this about?"

The copy-nin's eye glittered with that too-bright smile. The one designed to blind an opponent to the shadows that passed behind the light. He saluted his dog, pushed off his right hip and sauntered over to the apartment building, hands in his pockets, head tipped back. A contradictory study in avoidance and action.

Pakkun released a growly sigh. "You still want me to check up on that kid?"

Kakashi thrust out his arm, giving the thumbs up without turning around. His attention was fixed on the block of flats straight ahead, eyes scanning the row of balconies on the top floor until his mismatched gaze hit on the room at the far left end.

_There._

While he'd known where to find it, he'd never been to Asuma's apartment. Not that invitations were strictly required. In fact, the whole 'breaking-and-entering-at-the-crack-of-dawn' plan had a ring of poetic justice to it...considering the one occasion, years back, when Kakashi's door had been busted in with a drunken dropkick from the Sarutobi.

"_DYNAMIC BREAK-AND-ENTRY! SHIT!"_

"_You didn't just break down my door."_

"_Amida, I just broke my fucking legs…"_

"_Saves me the trouble then."_

"_Argh…wait…K-Kakashi? W-What're you doing here?"_

"_I live here."_

"…_Then Gai is—?"_

"_Five doors down."_

"_…Wow. You sure?"_

Kakashi smiled at the memory but winced at the ache. He paused abruptly beneath the awning of the ground floor apartments to catch his breath. The sadness came fast, rolling off the high shelf he'd placed it on. He caught it like a glass ornament in his mind, wrapped it up in distractions and tucked it away in the lockbox, chest constricting.

_Later._

A soft mewl drew his gaze down and across.

A calico cat watched him from the shadows, tail twitching serpent-like, viper-green eyes fixed in animal fascination. Not exactly a black cat crossing his path but Kakashi's eccentric brain retrofitted the image and he inwardly cringed. Resisting the urge to knock on wood, he angled his head and set his Sharingan eye swirling.

The cat's nametag glinted: JIGSAW

Well, he supposed it was fitting, given the way nature had put the calico together. As if sensing his amusement, the cat's ears pinned back, a low yowl rumbling in its throat.

Kakashi held up a friendly palm, realising how inane – and ineffective – the gesture was before balling his fist back into his pocket. Ignoring the feline death glares, he glanced around, surveying the immediate area. He'd clocked the hour to be around 8AM.

Not the best time for a B&E.

_When is it ever?_

He needed an alibi or an accomplice.

He glanced back at the feline eyeing him with utmost disdain. While he'd have preferred a dog, any domestic animal would prove useful. Getting caught under the pretext of returning a lost pet might soften any punitive punches from Tsunade. That failing, he could always pull out a dreadful pun about cat burglars that'd send him straight to A&E to avoid interrogation completely. Not an unlikely outcome, given the Hokage's current mood; right now she was liable to keelhaul anyone caught wasting time and resources – their rank and reputation notwithstanding. Yet knowing all this, here he was again on a wild goose chase while the Akatsuki threat was still at large - and growing larger.

_In for a penny, in for a pound._

Besides, he'd have plenty of time to reflect on how bad an idea this was while strung up in the hospital with his favourite book series. He just needed to snatch a collar and catch a break first.

_This should be interesting._

Pursing his lips, Kakashi turned towards the cat and prepared himself for an embarrassing series of kissing-calls. He'd barely sucked in the breath to form a squeak before the cat sprang over. Immediately on edge, Kakashi stiffened as the feline took possession of his legs, circling a sinuous figure 8, rubbing up against his calves, a purr trilling low in its throat.

_That was...easy._

Too easy. Crouching down, Kakashi scooped the cat up under his forearm and cradled it awkwardly. Just when he thought he might've kicked his deep distrust of felines, Jigsaw flexed her claws into his turtleneck, drawing blood in the process.

Kakashi's eyes twitched.

_Give me a dog any day._

* * *

Inside the Yamanaka Flower Shop a dog was barking.

And it wasn't the large white mutt lazily sprawled at the threshold.

"I spent two days working my ass off to pay for crap that doesn't work!"

_Kiba._

Neji paused at the entrance, one palm braced against the doorjamb, right foot hovering mid-step over Akamaru. He'd sooner have stumbled over the dog than stumbled into the drama. Said drama taking the form of one Inuzuka Kiba, who stood with his palms flattened against the cash counter, baring his teeth at a tall willowy redhead stationed behind the till.

"I want my money back, dammit."

The girl took a long belligerent moment to masticate a stick of gum between her jaws, blowing a large neon pink bubble in Kiba's face. "No refunds."

"I've got the stupid receipt."

"No refunds. We can replace the product."

"Are you _deaf _or _dense? _I said it doesn't _work_."

"All Yamanaka products are tried and tested."

Kiba jerked his head back and reached into his jacket.

For one horrid moment Neji suspected the dog-nin would draw a weapon. As it happened, Kiba whipped out a frilly violet pouch. He smacked it onto the counter like a lawyer presenting damning evidence.

"I don't know about tried and tested but I can vouch for trial and error," he charged. "This crap is supposed to induce sleep, right?"

The redhead twirled a ringlet round her finger, gave the pouch a cursory glance and blew another bubble. "Does it say that on the label?"

Kiba glared at her before snatching up the pouch. He twisted his wrist, peered at the flower-shaped label dangling daintily from the powder-blue drawstring and sneered. "Promotes a restful night's sleep, my ass." He turned his animal-slit eyes back on the woman. "This stuff is making her throw up everywhere!"

The redhead's bovine expression didn't change, her long chin waggling side-to-side as she chewed her cherry-flavoured cud and blew another bubble. "Maybe she's allergic."

Kiba's eyelids ticked. "She's not allergic. She's pregnant."

"So?"

"So her smell is all messed up! I know what its like."

"Being pregnant?" the redhead quipped.

Kiba squeezed his eyes shut, teeth grit as he tried to get himself under control. "She needs to rest. It's not good for the baby. She's…" He cut off, cleared his throat and tried again, his voice a rasp that Neji had to strain to hear. "Look. She's going through a lot...emotionally."

The girl snorted. "Well if she's so hypersensitive then getting her something like lavender was pretty stupid. It means distrust."

Aggression burned itself across Kiba's face, animalistic behind the thin irises. His voice went cold. "Get Ino down here."

"She's out."

"Then go find her."

"Pfft. Send your dog to sniff her ou—"

"SHUT UP!" Kiba's fist slammed down and clusters of thin grey leaves exploded from the burst pomander. The redhead gaped at him, a big pink bubble popping on her lips and deflating around her open mouth. The colour sucked out of her cheeks completely.

Kiba all but bore down on her, his knees cracking into the counter, fingernails extending into claws, gouging grooves into the wood, fangs bared in elongated points as he shouted. "I bought the whole damned set of this shit and I'm NOT leaving here until you—!"

"Kiba!"

"WHAT!?" Kiba roared, tearing around with hands outstretched to strangle.

Neji stood in the doorway, half in shadow, a palm raised in peace. "Calm down," he said softly.

Kiba's chest heaved for the full five seconds it took for him to register what Neji had said – and then he abruptly swung away, his arm lashing out to upturn the lavender gift basket he'd set on the counter earlier.

The girl squeaked, arms flying instinctively to cover her head.

Kiba whirled back and stabbed a finger at her, the pupils of his eyes almost snake-like. "I won't forget this," he growled, transferring his scowl onto Neji, eyes flickering wildly, hunting for something to snarl only to chuck up his hands with a rough '_GRAH!'_ before lunging past the Hyūga out into the street, moving with his body low to the ground - like an animal.

Akamaru bounded after him.

Neji turned, followed and closed distance in three long strides. "Kiba!"

The dog-nin jerked to a stop, shoulders drawn up like hackles - but he didn't turn around. That surprised Neji enough to halt him in his tracks. So much for predictability. He'd been riding on that up until this moment.

"Kiba," he tried again.

When the dog-nin didn't respond, Akamaru came to stand between them, his great white head ducked low and cocked to one side, studying Kiba with an intensity that went beyond concern. The dog looked cautious.

That gave Neji further pause. He backed up a step.

Kiba's fingers flexed, the claws extending and shrinking.

Neji watched him, quiet, wary.

It had stopped drizzling, but the sky remained overcast, clouds heavy and leaden as steel. The damp smell of rain presided, warring with the delicate scent of flowers wafting from the shop.

A bird twittered somewhere overhead, but all Neji heard was Kiba's rough breaths, sloughing in and out, lungs labouring over their simple task as if the few short strides he'd taken were tantamount to miles.

"You're concerned for the child," Neji said at length.

Kiba stiffened, nodded jerkily. His knees twitched, like he wanted to fold into a crouch.

A chill settled across Neji's skin. "Has something happened?"

"Just got a feelin'," Kiba husked, the words rumbling oddly in his throat, making him sound more beast than man. "Don't expect you to get that."

Once, not so long ago, the bite in those words would've drawn blood. All they drew now was an unwanted sense of empathy. Neji smiled despite his unease, glad that Kiba couldn't see it. "No, I don't suspect you would."

Kiba cocked his head at the strange tone. Seconds later his claws retracted, body shaking off the tension in a single shudder. He blew out a long, slow breath and turned his head. A flash of tattooed cheek. "I got another feelin' that's telling me you didn't come here for flowers." His voice was steadier. "What's the deal?"

Certain that the volatile threat had passed, Neji relaxed his stance. "I was looking for Ino," he admitted, glancing over his shoulder. "I've had trouble locating her. Thought I'd try my luck here." He sighed. "Though it appears I'll need to search elsewhere."

Kiba grunted, sounding bored. "Well?"

Neji frowned, looked back at him. "Well what?"

"Well do ya need some help with that or what?"

The offer smacked Neji's brain sideways in his skull. He blinked, stunned. "What?"

Kiba reached a hand behind him to ruffle his fingers through Akamaru's fur, grasping tightly for a moment, feet still planted forward. "Yes or no?"

"What makes you think you can find her any faster?"

"Let's just call it a feelin'. Decide or I'm walking."

Neji glanced at the sky. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to have you assist me." Amazing how it hurt to actually admit that. But after Ibiki's little S&M session with his brain, Neji knew he was too low on chakra to go charging off around Konoha, Byakugan blazing. When Kiba didn't respond, he was forced to add, "Yes."

As if it were the magic word, Kiba hitched the legs of his slacks and swung a thigh across Akamaru's back. "Then pick up your stick, Hyūga."

Neji frowned, nonplussed. "My stick?"

"Yeah, you know…" Kiba twisted around, eyes almost warm, a slow smile stealing across his face before breaking into a full-blown grin. "The one that dropped outta your ass back there."

Right back on form, like one of those mechanical toys that stopped, stalled and flipped back onto its feet again.

Neji shook his head. "Eloquent as ever, Inuzuka."

Kiba shrugged. "Just call it like I see it." With a pat to his dog's flank, Akamaru set off at a lope along the street, tail swishing, tongue lolling. "Keep up, Highness!"

* * *

_The best laid plans..._

Often came to shit.

The plan had been to avoid any surreptitious routes, but the cat had other ideas. After detaching its tiny set of retractable claws from Kakashi's chest, Jigsaw had leapt onto the copy-nin's shoulder, crawled down his rigid back and sashayed off along the landing, disappearing around the side of the building.

And that was how Kakashi came upon the old fire escape, a jungle-gym of corroded slats and railings mounted to the side of the apartment, presenting itself as more hazardous than helpful.

_Tetanus would be a lovely souvenir to take away from this experience._

Looking up through the open steel gratings, Kakashi watched Jigsaw's shadow streak across the first landing and up the next set of stairs.

The ring of rusty bolts sounded like a death knell.

That didn't stop Kakashi from pooling chakra to his feet. With a resigned breath he shifted his stance and eased into a crouch, the muscles in his thighs coiling. One graceful leap and a couple of zigzagging swings later he'd beat the cat to the top storey. Hopping down off the old railing, he clapped flakes of oxidised metal off his palms.

Jigsaw appeared promptly, bounded up the final step and proceeded to idle back and forth in front of the emergency exit door leading into the building.

Kakashi turned and studied the door for a long moment.

"_DYNAMIC BREAK-AND-ENTRY!"_

No. But oh the irony.

Shaking his head, he flipped his fingers into three quick seals and stiffened his palm to the likeness of a blade. A low buzz and crackle at the centre of his hand, followed by a lick of lightning across his knuckles. Squinting, he tapered the chakra to a fine point and jammed the tips of his fingers against the centre of the door. He felt the conducted charge humming on the other side, the scorching rend of steel, a brief flash of blue-white light and the crash-bar's metal spring unlatched with a tinny pop.

Jigsaw hissed and scrammed, multi-coloured tail disappearing down the stairwell.

Smart move.

Kakashi pulled the door back and stepped into the building, wincing at the drawn-out screech of hinges, pitched like a question; what are you doing here? What are you thinking?

One foot in front of the other, down along the dim hallway.

Another flick of his fingers, another electric crackle, another slash of his palm and the door to Asuma's apartment clicked open, standing ajar. The buzz of static. Kakashi waited for a beat, heard no footfalls. Still, he glanced down the corridor before slipping inside.

The silence assaulted him.

A pressure in his head, like phantom hands cupped hard over his ears.

He stood perfectly still for a moment, listening out. Nothing. Not even the intermittent hum of appliances. An odd feeling rooted itself in Kakashi's sternum, slithered cold vines down into the pit of his stomach.

_I know this feeling..._

He remained in the foyer, trying to identify the sensation taking hold. He'd felt it once before. Couldn't remember when or where…searched his past and came up empty-handed.

_No matter. You didn't come here to go back there._

He flipped the light switch next to the door.

Nothing.

Kakashi drifted away from the foyer and treaded silently past the bathroom and the stretch of fusama panelling which lined the opposite wall. Went further along the corridor, glanced left towards the bedroom, turned right instead and paused at the threshold to the living room; a large cavern swamped in darkness, black-out blinds pulled down, shadows spilling back towards where the large glass doors and the balcony would be.

A prickly sensation raised the gooseflesh along Kakashi's arms.

Frowning, he took out the penlight, spun it over his knuckles and let the beam slice the darkness like a blade, angling it off to the side of the room so as not to rely on it completely. He allowed his vision to adjust, felt his Sharingan eye twinge, the black tomoes twirling in a pinwheel...

And then it all came into disturbing focus.

All of it...and none of it. None of everything he'd imagined; the strewn books, overturned furniture and ransacked cushions. It all settled like layers of fine dust behind Kakashi's eyes, forcing him to blink away the fantasies of trace evidence…forcing him to accept the reality at hand.

The reality that nothing here was out of place - apart from him.

All the props sat in what he guessed to be their respective positions; the wide maru coffee table angled to the exact degree one might expect it to be if Asuma had occupied the low couch, keeping his makeshift stool within reach of his long legs, heels kicked up onto scarred pine. A large ashtray ruled the centre of the table, round and shallow like a concave stone, its bowled centre cradling several dog-ends rimed in ash – a freeze frame as undisturbed as the air.

His eyes strayed further, penlight streaming ahead in a broad sweep, its thin beam refracting off the long elegant stems of two yoko floor lamps. The copy-nin filed each piece of furniture in succession; two legless _zaisu_ chairs, a barren Shogi board, a picture of Team 10 hanging at a slightly drunken angle, a potbellied laughing Buddha that crowned the small T.V. tucked into the modernised recess of the _tokonoma_. A Buddhist scroll dominated the alcove and framed the narrow space between a set of staggered zen-like shelves, one holding four thick tomes and a row of video tapes.

The other sills were empty.

Empty like the hollow space ballooning outwards in his chest.

Kakashi backed out of the room, reverent in a way he'd never been at any temple. What was this feeling? A thin film of sweat slicked his skin. He frowned, looked down at his damp palms as if he were a stranger to himself. Perhaps he was. A week ago he'd never have thought himself capable of getting so uncharacteristically involved, so ridiculously -

_Invested._

He lifted his eyes, gazed a final time around the room and found it was the absence of Asuma, not the relics of his presence, that called to him.

_Now I really am losing it._

He clicked off the penlight, let a black curtain of shadow close off the scene.

What had he really expected to find anyway?

He breathed against the pressure in his chest, needed an instant distraction and without any real purpose or plan moved sideways along the corridor, hand outstretched until his palm grazed the bedroom door, paused for a few heartbeats then slid gently along the wood's grain, taking the handle between his long fingers, twisting very slowly and – he froze, head coming up.

The door exploded outwards.

A shadow followed.

Kakashi crashed onto his back and despite the pain his hips were already torqueing, body flipping, legs sweeping out, launching a rapid succession of three reverse roundhouse-kicks, lower, middle, upper – on the final kick, his heel connected. The resounding slap of flesh.

_Got you._

A soft _phut_ and a violent sting exploded in the junction of his shoulder.

Kakashi staggered, had no time to dodge the oncoming shadow. It rammed him head-on, driving the senbon deeper. Fire-hot agony, then his left arm went numb. Reactions slowed. He cambered, felt his right arm pinioned behind his back. The crook of an elbow hooked around his throat, jerked his head back in a chokehold.

_So fast!_

And so damned distracted to have let it happen at all!

A violent yank and his airway constricted, windpipe sealing off. The tendons in his throat bulged. He felt a face tuck against his neck. A whisper, so soft as to be intimate, sounded at his ear. "Let go, Kakashi."

_Genma_.

Kakashi's eyes flared and narrowed, irises slicing into a sidelong glare. He saw nothing, only the tell-tale fizz of dots crowding the corners of his vision. He tried to launch off his foot. The Shiranui thwarted the movement expertly, his foot slamming down into the crook of Kakashi's knee, bringing all his weight to bear against the copy-nin.

Flawlessly executed, the shift of body mass ensured Kakashi couldn't get the leverage to flip him.

"Let go," Genma repeated, voice soft, steady, so alarmingly calm. Like this wasn't borderline insane. Like he wasn't cutting off his comrade's air supply. "Let go…"

Kakashi arched his back and Genma undulated with him, jerked him onto his knees and held him back against his chest, lips at Kakashi's ear, bodies pressed flush, both shaking and doused with sweat, like animals locked in a violent coupling. Morbid, surreal…

_Shit...t__his is bad..._

Kakashi saw stars, blinked wide, his brain whirling into a tailspin.

He felt a great compression, similar to the pain he'd felt when Kakuzu's threads had speared his chest, questing for the coronary arteries and the pulmonary veins.

_VERY bad…!_

His weakened heart gave a percussive _boom_, valves squeezing.

He screwed his eyes shut as his entire body convulsed.

Genma's head came up fast at the seizure, creating a gap between their bodies.

In a last ditch effort, Kakashi took the opening. Twisting the wrist that Genma had pinioned behind his back, the copy-nin hooked his fingers and stabbed them like a steel claw under the Shiranui's sternum, spearing upwards, focusing on driving beyond flesh and bone and—

Genma hacked out a bloody cough, lurching forward.

Kakashi rolled with the momentum, pitching Genma over his shoulder. He collapsed forward onto his right arm and knee, coughing hard, gulping in great shuddering breaths. He ripped the senbon from the curve of his shoulder, felt the nerves along his dead arm twinge and tingle. The agony in his chest crawled up into his throat, scaled his jaws right up to his temples, filling him up. His vision briefly swam but then the Sharingan took over, steadied his focus.

A silhouette melted into the shadows of the living room.

Kakashi willed his mind to operate and his body followed, adrenalin crushing the pain to a pinpoint. He was at the threshold in an instant, kunai drawn. His gaze pierced the shadows in the furthest corner of the room, where a thin sliver of daylight sliced in behind the blinds and stroked a neat slash across the lidded eyes staring back at him, their whites cool and shining.

"Should've knocked first," Genma said.

Kakashi stared, swallowed roughly. "You knew…"

"I never assume."

"And earlier? Kuren-"

"I'd suspected he'd never put Kurenai at risk with the information. But I had to be sure."

Like a blow to the temple. Kakashi couldn't contain the dizzy feeling. He sucked air against it, leaned heavily into the doorjamb. "You went to Kurenai for..._reconnaissance_?"

"It made sense that he'd turn to you instead."

Kakashi held off his immediate response, staring into those closed-off eyes, shaking his head. "And _this_?" He swept a hand between them, but his meaning extended much further, far beyond the confines of the apartment and the events that had happened within its walls. "Where's the sense in this?"

"Sense?" The word was but a breath on Genma's lips. "There's no sense to be found in any of it, Kakashi. No sense and no solution. Just ghosts." Genma paused as if he'd infringed on something – Asuma's memory, Kurenai's pain, his own humanity? He pinched his bloody lips and the senbon flashed ominously. "Ghosts and a whole lot of grief. There's enough of that going around. Don't you think?"

Kakashi scowled, but his brow creased more with pain than fury. "You stood there...watched her lay those flowers at his grave." And then, with venom burning his throat, he added, "How relieved you must've been."

Something flashed across Genma's eyes, phosphorous and fleeting, a will-o'-the-wisp in the night. Gone too soon. His gaze cleared and he looked across at Kakashi without turning his head. Only his eyes moved, dragging over the copy-nin in a slow crawl from head to toe. The corner of his mouth twitched dryly. "You still fight like you fuck. Dirty."

Kakashi might've been a statue for all the reaction he gave.

Genma reached up and brushed his thumb against the underside of his lip, smearing blood. He rubbed it between his fingers. "Could've sworn it turned you on, washing the blood off your hands."

And like a bloody hand, the past reached up. Rotten fingers outstretched toward him. But Kakashi had gripped the hand of another's skeleton, belonging to another's past. He deflected with his next question. "Who are you protecting, Genma?"

Genma turned, almost distractedly, towards the balcony...as if he'd been called from beyond the glass doors. His fingers slid in a slow stroke along the blind, drawing it back a scant inch. He angled his head away from the light, dark strands brushing his shoulders.

Kakashi watched, transfixed. "Is it Shikamaru?"

Genma said nothing, continued to stare outside, his gaze faraway.

That was a look Kakashi remembered. A look they'd shared a long time ago, when rules were nothing more than washed out ink on a blood-stained page. No accountability, no condemnation for their crimes, just faces without names…

Kakashi's eyes rounded. His mouth moved before his mind could intercede. "Who is Naoki?"

Like a break in the clouds, Genma's eyes cleared and his head came up a little – enough to let Kakashi know he'd struck gold, or a grave. Their gazes held for a moment. A moment in which Kakashi saw that phosphorous hint of emotion pass across Genma's face, tightening his brow before the expression smoothed out.

"Hn." The Shiranui grunted, his tongue stroking the senbon into a slow roll as he mulled something over, eyes drifting back to the balcony, going distant again. "Asuma really did trust you."

"He trusted you too."

"Not enough," the Shiranui snapped, voice catching, the first real spike of emotion before he flat-lined back into a vacuous drone. "Not enough."

Kakashi shook his head, eyes pinched in unutterable conflict. "We don't have to do this, Genma."

A humourless smile and Genma's brows drifted up in resignation. "Yeah, Kakashi," he sighed, the light striking the sheen in his eyes before he let the blind fall. "We do."

* * *

**TBC**.

A/N: Polly put the kettle on, it's about that time. This is what happens when I drop off the radar, I come back with angst bombs and questionable humour to torture you guys. Readers! I hope you enjoyed! Reviewers! Thank you so very much, my lovelies. Your feedback is tantamount to lindt chocolate – and if you only knew the rate at which I murder a box of those, you'd know how much of a high your wonderful encouragement has got me sailing on. Thank you. ^_^ Ever onwards to our lazy genius and white-eyed wonder.

A/N: Asuma's reference to, **Amida**; the 'Buddha of immeasurable light', venerated especially in Pure Land Buddhism


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: NARUTO and its characters were created and are owned by Masashi Kishimoto. Original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement intended.

Title: REQUIEM

Pairings: ShikaNeji, Asuma/Kurenai, Shikaku/Yoshino

Rating: M / R (language etc.)

Genre: Angst/General

Summary: Death is a fate we all share, but grief can leave us divided. In the shadow of Asuma's death the shinobi of Konoha learn that grief, unlike death, isn't just a thief in the night – but a night in itself. (BtB series)

**Timeline**: Shippuden. Neji and Shikamaru aged 17-18 (post-Hidan and Kakuzu arc, pre-Invasion of Pain arc). Approx. 2 days after Hidan's burial.

* * *

**REQUIEM**

by Okami Rayne

**Chapter Four**

From the first, Neji suspected that Kiba might've been testing him. Three errand-running stops and a few winding backstreets later, he was absolutely certain of the fact.

"I know you wanna ask me," Kiba called over his shoulder, riding out the loping stride of his great white mutt with a lazy sway, not even bothering to swivel around. "Go ahead."

"Ask you…?" Neji echoed flatly. Up until now, it'd taken an inordinate amount of restraint not to react. But Neji knew this belligerent and challenging streak was Kiba's way of establishing where the hell they both stood with one another now that they weren't trying to tear each other down.

_And yet he has to try…_

Yes, because Kiba was still a stubborn dog with a splintered bone, not willing to give it up despite the discomfort. Still loyal to his animus, his ego…and his friends.

_"If you're in the personal space of my buddies, Hyūga, it's only _polite _that I make sure you're shaking their hands instead'a smashing in their heads, yeah?"_

It was this latter point that Neji focused on to keep from smashing his fist into the back of the _Inuzuka's_ head. Kiba wasn't acting on pride alone. He was also honouring his principles.

_Just stay the course, _Neji's mind reasoned._ He'll back down._

Eventually. Just as soon as he'd ascertained that Neji had a handle on his own inner animal. It was as primal and basic as that. Yet every primal urge pushed Neji to want to take control of this new territory, to assert his place and kick Kiba back down to the lower levels.

_Right back to the level where you both started._

Not a chance he'd let that happen. If he lost face now, there'd be no recovering. Much as it stung his pride, he'd have to remain cool and collected – without the condescending edge, without the urge to control.

"Go on," Kiba needled. "I can smell the smoke comin' outta your ears."

Neji grit his teeth. Now this was real torture. Gods, just one day locked in a room with this uncouth hooligan would have him climbing the mental walls Ibiki wanted to break down.

"You'll feel better," Kiba offered.

Neji held his tongue – and kept his peace.

Two seconds into the silence Kiba straightened up, tipped his head back and spread his arms to address an unseen audience, like a king passing through a crowd. "Kiba-san!" he announced, ditching his drawl and attempting refinement. "With your superior tracking skills and unrivalled brilliance pray tell-!" he cut off, glanced oh-so-_slowly_ over his shoulder and whispered. "_Are. We. There. Yet_?"

It took every hard-earned ounce of restraint not to throttle the bastard.

Neji blinked serenely. "I've never in my life used the expression _pray tell_."

Kiba's mouth turned up at the same time his brow pulled down, warring between a scowl and a smile. He settled on a lopsided grin. "Damn. That's all I got."

_Thank GOD for small blessings._

And then Akamaru halted outside a garishly painted _kissaten_.

Neji sighed inwardly and prepared himself for yet another delay. Pausing a step behind the dog duo, he glanced towards the establishment, taking in its broken tiles and faded paint, a wash of pastel stripes that once boasted bright rainbow colours. And then Neji's eyes hit on the thick doodled lettering which crowned the top of the coffee house.

"Niji…" he uttered, looking sidelong at the Inuzuka. "Are you being facetious?"

Kiba groaned, looking across in slit-eyed disgust. "And you got scratchy over _pray tell_? Man, do they _beat_ this stuff into you with your stick? Hinata doesn't talk that way."

Tight-jawed, Neji folded his hands into the sleeves of his robe, the bridge of his nose crinkling before his features smoothed out. "Another errand to run, Inuzuka?"

Kiba paid him no heed, scratching his fingers through the thick fur at Akamaru's neck, butting his head playfully against the dog's until he realised Neji was glaring at him. "What?" he growled, waving a hand toward the _kissaten_. "She's in there."

Neji hesitated, pale eyes tapering in suspicion.

Kiba blinked at him and bowed forward mockingly, sweeping an arm out. "You've arrived, Highness. My work here is done."

Which meant there was no way to avoid walking into the rainbow-coloured atrocity. Neji's shoulders tightened, fingers biting into his forearms as he gave the place the once-over. "Ino is in there," he repeated, needing to clarify…maybe even deny.

"That's what my nose tells me."

"If this turns out to be some childish joke, Inuzuka."

Kiba laughed, a hoarse bark which had Neji's expression tightening. "Man, Shikamaru was a god-damned _saint. _How'd he put up with you on that mission?" At Neji's slow, warning turn, Kiba raised his hands. "Hey, I'm serious. She's in there."

And for some unfathomable reason that Neji wouldn't dare call 'a feeling', he knew the dog-nin spoke true. But for the sake of the pride he'd be sacrificing at the rainbow-coloured threshold, he asked. "How did you find her so quickly? Your errand-running delays notwithstanding."

Kiba rolled his eyes over the last word and trained his gaze on some distant point down along the street, stilling his hands in Akamaru's fur. "I told you. It's my superior and unrivalled brilliance."

Neji opened his mouth to retort only to click his jaws shut upon noticing that the tattoos on Kiba's face had deepened in colour. The Hyūga blinked, baffled for a moment until he registered that the dog-nin was…

_Blushing_?

Impossible. That would indicate embarrassment, which Kiba was incapable of – especially where his talents were concerned.

_Which means…_

Neji's brows went up before he could control his reaction.

Kiba caught the expression out the corner of his eye and scowled. "The hell you lookin' at me like that for?"

The open invitation was just too tempting. Neji tried to clamp his jaws but the words pushed up and past his tilting lips. "You have a rather solid grasp on Ino's scent."

Kiba snorted, knees tightening around Akamaru. "I have a solid grasp on _everyone's_ scent." He sat back on his canine cushion, making to fold his arms only to redirect and plant his hands on his thighs, palms rubbing up and down. "You goin' in or what?"

_Interesting._

Neji made a quick note of the reaction and inclined his head, which was about as much thanks as he was willing to give before he turned to embrace the inevitable.

He entered the _kissaten_.

It struck him as something out of a child's fairy-tale with the watercolour quality of a picture book; fusuma panels painted to give an illusion of endless sky, making Niji seem like a floating café tucked into the clouds. Unwittingly, Neji found himself wondering whether Shikamaru knew about this place…and if he'd ever set foot in it.

_Unlikely._

The Nara would take one look at the psychedelic exterior and swivel on his heel. Although, the rich aroma of coffee might be enough to give him pause. It certainly had Neji's nose wrinkling.

He glanced around. Given the hour there were only a handful of customers and a few of them cast curious looks in his direction as he made his way to a low table at the far end, gaze trained on the blonde figure folded up in a plush leather seat, her hands curled around a steaming mug.

As he closed distance, Neji tried to gauge Ino's mood. Other than the general air of deep brooding it was difficult to read anything more with her long bangs sectioning off half her face. From what he could make out, she had her gaze fixed on her drink, chin tucked down, elbows pulled close to her sides.

_Trying to make herself small…_

Behaviour quite out of the ordinary – at least, he judged it to be from what little he really knew about her. He paused just to the side of the table, waited for her to notice him and spoke her name quietly when she didn't.

Ino jumped, coffee sloshing, fingers tightening around the mug. She flashed a quick look upwards, exposing a watery blue orb. "Neji…" she croaked.

Neji's heel slid back a little. "Forgive my intrusion," he said, recognising an ill-timed moment when he saw one.

Ino stared at him vacantly for a few heartbeats, then let out a nervous little laugh before he could move to excuse himself. "Oh! No. No, it's fine." She tucked her legs tightly beneath her and shifted around, angling away. "What's up?"

Neji's brows pinched a little. He weighed the wisdom of pursuing his cause. He could politely excuse himself, but that would only embarrass Ino and serve to land him right back where he'd started – outside with Kiba.

_Not an option._

Best to proceed, with caution. He took the adjacent seat, which allowed him to avoid looking directly at her, giving Ino a kind of subtle privacy to compose herself. She furled up tighter in her seat, drawing her mug so close the steam ghosted up her throat and cast a light sheen across her skin.

To avoid an awkward silence, Neji cut straight to it. "I've hit a plateau in my training," he began. "I hoped you might be able to assist me."

Ino set her lips to her mug, took a quick sip and winced, leaning forward to pour in cream. "Wow. Hyūga Neji coming to _me_ for help?" she teased, but it sounded strained. "Should I be flattered or freaking out?"

Neji watched her movements, noting the way her fingers fumbled over the simple task of tearing open the sugar sachet. "Given your experience and talent with mind control, I can't think of anyone better suited to helping me."

Ino took another sip of her coffee, hummed approvingly. "That's funny. I could've sworn you were pretty good at all that 'still mind' kind of stuff already."

"A still mind doesn't counteract genjutsu."

"Genjutsu, huh?" Ino tucked herself back into a ball. "Not sure that's my area."

"On the contrary, it's my understanding that the Yamanaka disciplines help to build up resistance to genjutsu."

"Well, yeah. But it's not exactly a defence. More like a deflection."

"Sometimes a deflection is all you need." He looked off to the side. "At any rate, I'd appreciate any guidance you could give me. There's no one else I can turn to with regards to this."

Ino mulled over the request, staring into her coffee. "Yeah, I guess a serious state of mind isn't something Gai-sensei can really help you with, huh?" She gave a fragile smile, but the pain in her voice, so thinly masked, cast a shadow over her humour. "I always used to think our sensei would teach us everything we needed to know and be there every step of the way to make sure we didn't mess up." Her nails dug into the ceramic. "Stupid, huh? Making them out to be superhuman."

Neither spoke into the quiet that followed. There was only the light clink of ceramic, the odd scrape of spoon against plate, rustling papers, a quietly cleared throat, the soft hum of muted conversation and from somewhere behind a child gave a delighted gurgle.

Ino stiffened in her seat.

Neji's eyes softened as he watched her, a faint crease pulling between his brows. There were just no words to even begin to express…express what? Sympathy? Understanding?

_Useless…_

As useless as he felt right now, totally ill-equipped to handle the situation. He was reminded all over again just why he'd kept his distance from Team 10 and everyone within their sphere ever since the funeral. Gods, he'd been so keen to avoid the situation that within three hours of watching Kurenai lay those flowers at Asuma's grave he'd already been on a mission. He'd believed immediate action to be the right path.

_The right path? Or the path of least resistance?_

Guilt sawed through him, as ugly and raw as that appalling sense of _relief_ he'd felt when Shikamaru had failed to show up at Asuma's memorial. It had shocked him at the time, the power of the emotion…and now, as he tracked his gaze over Ino, he recalled just why it had hit him so hard.

_Because if I'd seen him like this…_

The thought was so insufferable he couldn't stand to entertain it. He closed his eyes, tried to stop the image from taking hold. It shivered in his mind's eye, shadows and blood on water. Deep, deep water. He pulled in a silent breath to keep from going under. He didn't trust that he'd be able to stay afloat, to stick to the plan…to stay away.

_I owe you that much..._

And so much more.

He heard Ino trying to smother her sadness, a wet rattle in the back of her throat. At that sound, his eyes slipped open and suddenly the words came. "I once spent an entire day chasing Asuma-senpai around the village."

Ino's breath caught hard. She lowered the mug to her lap, not breathing.

Neji leaned back into the memory, brought his elbows to rest against the worn leather and touched his fingertips together in a downwards-pointing steeple, thumbs tapping. "During the melee tournament Tsunade-sama held four years ago. I don't know if you reme—"

"I remember," Ino whispered.

"Jōnin versus genin," Neji went on, head tilted to one side, pale eyes clouding as he brought the past into focus. The contest had required competitors to battle each other with the aim of collecting red and blue crystals, the red holding more value in points. Of course, the jōnin had been given the red. "When I confronted Asuma, he immediately gave up the location of his crystal to avoid the hassle of engaging with me."

A soft, trembling chuckle and Ino shook her head. "That's _so_ like Asuma…"

_So like someone else, too._

Neji pressed his thumbs together, unable to beat back the smile. "Well, unfortunately for Asuma, I was more interested in testing my skills against a jōnin than winning the contest."

"Oh god."

"His thoughts exactly, I'm sure."

Setting her mug down on the table, Ino swivelled towards him, fingertips gripping the arm of the chair. There was something achingly childlike in that. "And? Did you get him to fight you?"

"Not once."

"But you kept on, huh?"

"Of course."

Ino pressed her lips, but her amusement bubbled in the air around them, alleviating the heaviness that had settled earlier. "The _whole_ day, huh?"

Reflecting, Neji stared wide-eyed at the table and grimaced a little. "I was a very stubborn child."

Ino laughed, a soft pure sound that didn't chafe or tremble.

Awkward as the memory was, Neji found a smile for her, glancing up. "I'm sure he counted you and your teammates as blessings from that day on."

"Pfft!" Ino swatted away the comment, but her cheeks warmed. "I don't know about that. He called me a loudmouth, Shikamaru a slacker and Chōji a glutton." She propped her elbow on the arm of the chair and fiddled with the silver stud in her earlobe. "Kinda accurate assessment, I guess."

"He knew you well."

"Yeah…" She turned her head away, a nostalgic little smile tugging at her lips. The sadness in her voice was as pure as her laugh had been. "He knew us better than anyone."

Testament to a bond that held so much power…and had left behind so much pain. The concept of having that connection with a sensei was as foreign to Neji as the sudden urge to reach out and understand it. He laced his fingers together, squeezing until the knuckles blanched. "I regret that I never got the chance to fight him as a jōnin."

"Men are so basic. You'd have been happy, huh?"

"I'd have been honoured," he corrected.

Ino stroked her throat, swallowing with difficulty. "Yeah…" She reached for her mug and cradled it to her chest, rocking herself into another ball. "When do you wanna start training?" she asked.

He studied her for a moment, waited until she stopped rocking. "Whenever you're ready," he said softly.

"Then just let me finish this."

"Of course." Neji unfolded his fingers and made to stand.

"You don't have to go," she said quite suddenly, reedy and small, like rushes in the wind.

He eased back down, set his palms loosely on his thighs. He sat with her in silence until she finished her coffee, went over to the till and ordered one to go, a much thicker and darker brew, throwing in a packet of potato chips.

"Bet I won't even get a thank you," she mumbled to herself, clicking her nails on the counter, pretending to study the drinks menu.

Neji stood beside her, watching the waitress box up the order in a cloud-shaped carton, his attention divided between styrofoam cups, crackling packets and the aqua-blue eye peeking out at him from behind flaxen strands.

"Neji?"

Glancing over, he watched the long stripe of blonde hair shiver with the breath that Ino took, summoning a kind of courage before her face turned partially towards him – just enough to see the tear slip down into the crook of her smile. "Thank you."

* * *

A blue-white glow lit up the borders of the Third Training Ground, blazing trees, limning foliage and throwing out sharp shadows across his path.

Shikamaru stopped walking.

The strobe flicker cut out faster than a lightning flash and beneath his feet a deep rumbling shuddered through the earth, rolling grit and pebbles. He glanced up, hooded eyes sharpening on the grounds beyond the trees.

_The hell?_

Redirecting, he approached the field, frowning at the thickness of the air, the overcast dampness compounded by the hot burn of chakra. It settled over him like a blanket and he hunched his shoulders in a futile effort to shrug it off.

A husky shout stopped him in his tracks.

"C'mon! You gonna give up that easy?!"

"It's not easy! And I'm _sick_ of this stupid ball!"

It was the smaller, angrier voice that drew Shikamaru's attention across the ash-hued grass, where the ground looked more like a minefield, potholes blown into the earth. His gaze fixed on the two figures stationed next to a smoking crater. The taller of the two stood like a lone flame in the grey morning, a vibrant splash of orange and yellow. He was gesticulating wildly at the smaller figure, identifiable at this distance by a long blue scarf that whipped out on the chill breeze like a streamer, cracking sharp as a bullwhip.

"I can't do it. Give me something else to blow up."

"You said the same thing about the water balloon before you popped it."

"It's not the same!"

Keeping to the shadows of the treeline, Shikamaru skirted around, drawing close enough to better catch their expressions and hear the dialogue firing back and forth.

Naruto jammed his hands at his waist and rocked back on his heels. "You're not gonna get stronger if you keep on whining."

Konohamaru slam-dunked the rubber ball so hard it rebounded and smacked him point-blank in the face. "DAMMIT!"

Laughing, the Jinchūriki scooped up the offending ball, bouncing it in his palm. "Hey, I had to do this stuff too, you know. It's tough, but you gotta make your chakra denser."

"I know that!" Konohamaru snarled from behind his fingers, palms cupped over his bleeding nose. "And it'll take forever!"

"Well it will if you keep whining."

"Shut up!"

Naruto bounced the ball off the kid's head, catching it in both hands over his yellow spikes, bent forward like a dog in a play-bow. "Come on, let's go again!"

Konohamaru vibrated on the spot for several seconds before turning around and stomping off, high-stepping the obstacle course of craters.

Naruto's face dropped, along with the ball. "Oi!" He caught up with Konohamaru in a couple of bounds and curled his fingers into the young Sarutobi's scarf. "Don't be such a baby."

Konohamaru spun around so fast that Naruto didn't have time to release the scarf. He'd have face-planted straight into the dirt if Konohamaru hadn't launched at him with a strangled scream, tackling Naruto around the waist. They landed hard, the Jinchūriki taking the brunt of the impact, sandwiched between the churned up earth and a rain of angry fists.

One violent strike caught Naruto square across the jaw. "Don't EVER call me that!"

Shikamaru jerked his head back, struck by the hysteria in the scream – as hard-hitting as the blow that rendered Naruto momentarily stunned before the Uzumaki raised his forearms to protect his face. "Oi! Quit it!"

"Damn you!" Konohamaru roared, the words strangling in his throat. "Don't EVER call me that again!"

"Will you jus—" Naruto's teeth cracked together, a solid punch knocking his head back.

"I'm NOT some stupid kid!" Konohamaru spat, eyes wild, unfocused. "I _know_ how it works! I'm not too young to get it! I'm NOT too young to understand!"

Whatever move Shikamaru had planned to make ended in a single step. He flattened a palm against the nearest tree, feet rooted, breath gone, a gutting emotion pushing up behind his ribs.

_Stop…_

"Stop," Naruto husked, but he was putting up a weak attempt at defence now, offering just enough resistance to keep from losing teeth. "Konohamaru…"

"Look at me _NOW_, damn you!" Konohamaru raged on, railing against Naruto as if the Uzumaki were the embodiment of all the futility that came streaming into his voice, into his words, into his eyes and down his cheeks. "I'm not a BRAT anymore! Not _now_!"

"Kon—"

"Not now! Not _now_! Always _'not now' _but now it's too _late_, OJISAN!"

The bottom dropped out of Shikamaru's stomach.

Naruto's arms came up fast, wrapped around Konohamaru so tight the boy stiffened in shock against his chest. "I'm sorry," Naruto whispered, a hoarse rush. "I'm sorry."

Sobbing, Konohamaru squirmed and fought, let his fists beat small craters in the earth, fuelled by emotion more powerful than any _Rasengan_. "WHY!"

Naruto sat up, wrestled them into an awkward kneel and took the beating Konohamaru transferred onto his back, his embrace as fierce as the emotion tightening his expression, roughening his voice. "I don't know why…" he croaked. "No one does…"

_Because no one can…_Shikamaru thought, leaning into the tree for support. _And no one ever will…_

And who would really want to? Nothing could justify what had happened. Nothing could make it right. He watched as Konohamaru stopped fighting, crumpled into the hug and lost the battle to prove a point to a ghost that hadn't listened. Not then and not now.

"_Not now."_

How many times had he heard Asuma snap or sigh those words?

_So many times…_

But never to Shikamaru.

"_I hear you."_

Confusion and guilt hit the shadow-nin like a wall. He couldn't scale it, couldn't see past it to whatever answers lay on the other side. He tapped his brow to the tree, closed his eyes against the sound of Konohamaru's sobs.

_Dammit Asuma, you could be such a hardass…_

And such an inadvertent hero…such a tangled mass of contradictions; so casual and dismissive when it came to his family and his clan…yet so committed and determined when it came to his team…to Kurenai…

_To the kid you'll never know…_

The wall in Shikamaru's mind climbed higher, towering over him, blocking out the light, leaving only darkness, only shadows…god he wanted to run…

"_Don't even think about it. You know I'll chase you down."_

Sadness so strong that the wall could barely contain it; it shook, trembled, threatened to collapse. He needed to run…

_I can't, Sensei…_

Shikamaru shoved away from the tree…

"_Don't run."_

…turned a blind circle…

"_I'm not going anywhere…"_

…began to walk…

"_I won't let you fall."_

…his steps broad and heavy…

"_I won't leave you alone in this."_

…anything to keep from running…running from the pain…running from the past…running faster, further and so far away…

"_I'm going to be right beside you."_

…with only his shadow to chase him down.

* * *

The chase had led him down – deep down – right into the bowels of the building's subbasement, where the drone of generators, the hum of boilers and the intestinal gurgle of pipes was syncopated by the shrill drip of a leakage overhead. Water hit the shiny concrete in a persistent tap, sent up little sparks in the darkness.

A thick droplet fell, struck Kakashi's lashes and ran like a tear from his Sharingan eye.

God this was going to hurt.

Drawing a breath, he ripped the senbon from the femoral nerve in his right thigh, threw his head back at the agony and stared up at the steamy underbelly of pipes, his eyes threatening to cross at the pain.

The air hissed from his nose like steam from a vent.

_Vents…_

He imagined Pakkun, felt deliriously amused at the thought.

_Ah, but this is all too familiar._

Shame then, that the harrowing sense of déjà vu offered no insight into what the hell was likely to unfold in the next few minutes if he didn't make a move before Genma.

_Make a move? _His mind taunted. _And how do you plan to do that with one arm and now one leg out of commission?_

A sitting duck, for sure. Squatting in the deep, damp shadows of the thermal storage tanks, he felt the sweat bead at his temples. Damn, but he'd forgotten the neuralgic trauma that Genma's deadly little toothpicks could inflict; his right thigh was a slab of quivering agony. He knew from cold hard experience that the pain would worsen before he lost feeling altogether.

_Feeling isn't the only thing you've lost…_

He'd clearly lost his mind somewhere in the back-alley of better judgement. What the _hell_ had he been thinking, going into this so half-cocked? He'd barely recovered his chakra, barely mended from almost having his heart ripped out of his chest. He was in no condition to go gallivanting over graves trying to chase a ghost and dig up skeletons.

"You're not firing on all cylinders, Kakashi." The voice floated down from higher up, resounding along the crossbeams of the scaffolding which supported the upper-level storage tanks. "Neuralgia is just the foreplay. Give it up before I really get serious."

Kakashi angled a wry glance upwards, not bothering to cover his position now that he'd been discovered. "And you accuse me of fighting dirty?"

"Haven't you heard?" Genma dropped down in front of him, fluid as a cat. "Accusations are all the rage." He straightened up, the chakra he'd charged to his feet cutting out in a fizzle against the wet ground.

Kakashi dug deep, checking his own reserves, searching for a way to stall. "For someone who stands accused, you're not putting up much of a defence."

Genma countered with a blunt look, directing it pointedly at Kakashi's wounds. "There are no words but action. And I don't have to defend or justify those actions to anyone but the Hokage."

Leaning back on his palm, Kakashi folded his injured leg beneath him, canting heavily to one side, letting his head roll to conceal the quick glance he stole from beneath his lashes. Faster than a blink, he swept his gaze over Genma, Sharingan eye taking slow and accurate inventory of the other man's injuries.

Though he hid it remarkably well, Genma's body betrayed its pain. Kakashi detected it in the almost imperceptible hitch that accompanied every indrawn breath and the stiffness of the senbon between the man's grit teeth when he exhaled. There was still blood on his lips, fresh and glistening.

Kakashi had landed one hit earlier – but one hit was all he'd needed to make it count.

_He'll need to see a medic…_

Both of them would, at this rate. He dragged himself back on his palm, propped a shoulder against the cold concrete and disguised the next movement of his hand by bowling over a little.

"Hurts like a sonofabitch, doesn't it?" Genma said, though he didn't sound proud of the fact. His voice didn't hold any inflection.

Kakashi shot him a dark look from beneath wilting silver strands. "Always nice to be reminded."

Shrugging, Genma plucked the senbon from his lips and spat blood at the copy-nin's feet as if to say 'we're even'. He then moved beyond Kakashi's line of sight – a thud and rustle, the wet scuff of sandals –and reappeared seconds later with a black duffle-bag in hand. He slung it over his shoulder, kept his back turned as he began to walk away.

"We're done here." And then his tone of voice changed, gentling somewhat as he cast the words over his shoulder, "Stay down."

Kakashi hummed, dangerously soft. "You first."

Genma paused mid-step, heard the crackle and began to turn.

Too late.

A _whoosh _later he was yanked off his feet. He hit the ground with a _crack_, didn't have time to register the chained dog-leash wrapped around his ankle before 60,000 volts of electricity came slamming through the steel straight into his nervous system.

"_RAITON!"_

A wild flailing, like a fish caught on a line, overwhelmed by a blue-white riptide. Kakashi held fast, felt the chain wrapped around his hand jerk and judder until the body at end of the line stilled at last into a palsy shiver. Steam hissed upwards from the wet ground, hanging like a shroud around Genma's body, the air heavy with the sharp smell of ozone.

Kakashi dropped the chain, staggered to his feet and limped over.

Genma's eyes, frozen in an open stare, flickered at the approaching steps, swivelling upwards towards Kakashi. His lips parted, air rattling low in his throat.

Kakashi knelt heavily beside him, cradling his left arm.

"Well," Genma rasped, his mouth twitching into a curve, more smirk than smile. "You always did…prefer it…on top…"

"You're lucky I curbed the amperage." Kakashi slid his fingers to Genma's trembling wrist, ignored the static shock and checked the still-strong pulse, letting the arm drop like a dead weight. "How long before you need medical attention do you think?"

Genma sucked in air as if to reply – then spat, hot and red against Kakashi's cheek. "Go figure."

The copy-nin made no move to wipe away the blood. He gazed down through his lashes, searching Genma's face. "Is that what you wanted Asuma to do? Go figure?" He leaned back and pulled out the senbon he'd found in the archives subbasement, having thought better of revealing the map. "Taunting him with clues when you could've just walked away? I didn't think you were that cruel," he paused suddenly, the anger bleeding out of his voice. "Or that conflicted."

"You didn't think…a lot of things through…" Genma panted, struggling to get his stunned brain to function. "Neither did he."

"But that didn't stop you from giving him a nudge in the right direction, did it?"

Genma's dazed eyes slid over the senbon, squinting. "Hn. Guess that shot was a little wide."

Kakashi shook his head at the weak evasion. "Asuma wasn't the only one pulling his punches in that room, was he? I could understand your actions if you were just covering up tracks, but why leave breadcrumbs as you go?" He spun the senbon over his knuckles, a slim needle of truth in this haystack of lies. "Whose benefit was that for? His? Shikamaru's? Your own guilty conscience?"

Genma's fingers twitched, but that could've just been the current still buzzing along his nerve endings. The look he gave Kakashi was brief but searching. "You miss him, don't you?"

Instinct warned Kakashi off before the pain could. Reflexively, he avoided the blade of those words by turning them right back on Genma. "And you? Do you care at all that Asuma went to his grave believing you'd betrayed him?" The Shiranui's silence all but screamed. Kakashi's eyes softened. "Genma…"

"God you're pathetic," Genma spat, thick with blood and laboured breath. "Taking on Asuma's penance…because you can't _stand_ to face your own…"

No senbon could've struck a nerve buried deeper than that. Kakashi pulled his head back, eyes going cold and distant, expression closing off.

Genma acknowledged the look with a slow blink. "Now there's the man...that I remember," gone was the venom, the words delivered with that same flat tonality, holding no satisfaction, no pleasure, no pride…nothing…and everything it _may_ have contained was lost beneath layers…

_Underneath the underneath…_

Realisation dawned and like a drift of cloud burning away, Kakashi's eyes cleared. "I wish I could say the same to you."

A tightening around Genma's mouth, like he was struggling to contain whatever response he might've given. Kakashi wanted to hear it…understood in one horrid, bright flash how, years back, he could've taken a darker path, used the _raiton_ to fire up reluctant talkers like a light bulb until their resistance popped like a blown fuse.

Studying Genma's eyes, the copy-nin shook his head. "How is it that the Goei Shōtai has changed you in worse ways than ANBU ever did?"

_There_. That flicker he'd seen earlier, buried deep in Genma's eyes. The Shiranui lidded his gaze, his voice so quiet Kakashi had to strain to hear it. "We can't all cut and run…"

_Like you did. _Kakashi heard the unspoken words, dragging their entrails at the end of Genma's sentence…bloody and raw…

"But you should do that now," Genma advised, as if reading his thoughts. "And make it count…before I get the feeling back…and you lose feeling completely…"

Sage advice. Kakashi could already feel the pain in his arm and leg changing, an excruciating burn beginning to slide into a numb freeze. While the _raiton _had given his nerves an interesting jump-start, he still needed to see a medic-nin fast, before a serious case of neuropathy set it and the paralysis became permanent. There was only one woman he could trust to patch him up without asking questions.

_Time to go…but I'm not leaving here empty-handed._

Kakashi dragged a foot beneath him and glanced at the duffle bag slumped to the side of Genma's twitching fingers.

The Shiranui followed his gaze, sucked in a breath through his nose. His arm jerked in a futile spasm, fingers twitching with just enough strength to form a fist. "Kakashi," he warned.

Paying no heed, Kakashi grasped the bag and secured it obliquely across his chest, straightening up with a wince. He began to limp towards the fire exit. "I'll tell Yūgao where to find you."

Genma's snarl rent the air like a claw. "Where the hell do you get off, Hatake? Taking up Asuma's mantle like you could ever wear it."

Kakashi stopped in his tracks.

_Finally!_

And about damned time. _This_ was the moment he'd been counting on – untimely as any best laid plan gone to shit…and maybe even too late for him to take full advantage of it. He hadn't counted on Genma getting him in a chokehold or turning him into a human pincushion. That he'd underestimated the Shiranui so badly said a lot about how far they'd drifted in all the years Kakashi had tried to put behind him and between them.

He turned his head, red eye swirling. "Now _there's_ the man that I remember," he echoed dryly.

Genma had managed to regain just enough control over his motor-functions to roll onto his side, shuddering with the effort. Sweat dripped from his nose, teeth grit as he hissed a blue-streak beneath his breath.

Kakashi swivelled around, his right leg threatening to buckle. "It sure does hurt like a she-dog, doesn't it?"

Genma attempted to lever himself up, elbows locked, arms shaking. "We'll see who the bitch is by the end of this."

Okay, so clearly this show of feeling was fuelled more by enmity than emotion, but at least it was something Kakashi could work with. The fact that Genma had got fired up at all was either a miracle working in his favour or the forewarning of some serious mayhem yet to come.

_Whatever's caused it…take advantage and move fast._

It wouldn't take the Shiranui long to realise he'd left himself wide open, but if Kakashi could get inside his guard just long enough to get some answers…or at least understand _why_ the hell Genma was so viciously withholding them.

_You'd better be resting in peace by the end of this, Asuma…else I'm going to be resting in pieces…_

Kakashi's eyes sharpened on Genma. "If you're protecting someone then you've got nothing to lose by admitting that. If anything, you'll gain some ground with me in regards to letting this whole thing go."

Genma coughed out a laugh, a stringy red clot dangling from his open lips. He spat thickly and dragged the back of his wrist across his mouth. "And I thought _Asuma_ was a shitty liar."

"Asuma wasn't lying the night he got drunk," Kakashi reminded, redirecting fast. "I'll bet you knew the _second_ he began talking about Shikamaru that he was likely to pick up wherever he left off in finding out what happened to the kid – which raises the question of why you'd shove a road block in his path and then proceed to guide him around it. It doesn't make sense."

"We already covered the 'no sense' part." Genma tried to get his legs beneath him, failed in the attempt and resigned himself to the floor, fists clenched, forearms rigid, tendons strung in hard strips. "Maybe I'm just a cruel, cruel bastard who likes to fuck with people."

"No," Kakashi said softly. "You're not."

Propped on his elbows, Genma hung his head and let out a rough breath against his forearms – a sound that up until this point held more meaning than all his actions and words combined.

It was the opening Kakashi had been waiting for. "If you're protecting Shikamaru then its safe to assume that whatever happened to him two years ago is still a threat to him now."

"Hn. And all it took was you electrocuting the shit out of me to figure that out," Genma deadpanned, drawing up his right knee by degrees, managing to get it beneath him. His body shook with the strain. "Go on, detective…" he growled. "I'm not going to walk you through this."

Kakashi frowned, mental fingers grasping onto the thread that Genma hadn't cut or snatched away – yet. "Is this threat close to home?"

"It _wasn't_," Genma snapped, pulling his other knee up. "Not up until Asuma decided to go shooting his mouth off about feeling accountable. If he'd just dealt with his shit like the rest of us do, we wouldn't be drawing each other's blood over his guilty conscience."

Kakashi blinked, a silver brow drawing up. "His guilty conscience? Or yours?"

Genma glanced across and his voice fell very low. "I don't do guilt. You ought to know _that_ much about me, if nothing else."

"Then why did you help him?"

Ah, now the thread grew taut between them.

Genma took a sharp, short breath through his nose and pushed up onto his knees, grimacing at the painful return to mobility. He stayed there, kneeling, his gaze fixed ahead as his features rearranged themselves back into unfathomable order.

"Genma," Kakashi murmured.

"Because it wasn't his fault," the Shiranui bit out. "But that's _all_ he needed to know. So I gave Asuma what he needed to help him along."

"Which was?"

"Justification. A reason to believe that something _had_ happened and that he was within his over-protective rights to go and ask the damned kid himself. Let him go get all the answers straight from the horse's mouth."

Kakashi wasn't sold and took no pains to hide it, eyes narrowing. "And what made you so sure that Shikamaru would've told him the truth?"

Genma sighed, shook his head. "You don't get it. Whether Shikamaru told him the truth or not doesn't matter. The problem was Asuma's guilt. The same guilt that would've pushed him into pursuing this further."

"So what you're telling me is that your breadcrumb tactic was all about absolving Asuma's guilt and that it has absolutely nothing to do with whatever happened to Shikamaru?"

Genma inclined his head. "It wasn't Asuma's fault. Shikamaru would have told him that straight, even if he didn't go into the details of what happened. Case closed. Or re-closed. It should've ended there. But apparently he wasn't satisfied."

"Well, I'm sure your adamant refusal to get involved – whilst constantly hinting at your involvement – helped marvellously with that," Kakashi riposted with complete sarcasm. "And despite the high chance of Shikamaru telling him what happened anyway, you still insisted on withholding this information."

"It wasn't my place to tell his story."

Kakashi's eyes lidded in exasperation and thinly veiled insult. "Why? Was _your_ version of the story _that_ badly abridged?"

Closing his eyes, Genma gripped his shaking thighs and began the challenge of rising to his feet. "Basic psychology, Kakashi. Surely I don't need to tell you that no two people will tell the same story the same way."

"And just how many stories were there, Genma?" Kakashi asked with deceptive innocence, voice light even as his expression darkened with certainty. "Your's? Shikamaru's?" He tilted his head. "Naoki's?"

The stillness that came over Genma happened so abruptly that the naked-eye would've missed it. But the Sharingan clocked every muscle in isolation, a slow-motion freeze that rippled from head to toe.

And then Genma was back in seamless flow, turning towards Kakashi.

The copy-nin arched a silver brow, a look that screamed 'gotcha'.

Genma had grace enough to credit him the point, tipping his head. "Shikamaru's version of events is all that anyone needs to know," he paused, shot Kakashi a pointed look. "Or _not_ know." Turning sideways, he held out his hand for the duffle bag. "Satisfied?"

_Not even close…_

But this was as far as he could go. He had no grounds to take it any further. No justification – unlike Asuma – and Genma sure as hell wasn't about to give him a reason to get involved.

_And why on earth would you want to? Accept it. Take the exit. This is the end of the road._

Any further than this and he wouldn't be bending the rules anymore, he'd be outright breaking them. And for all his uncharacteristic acts of truancy in the past few hours…those were lines he just couldn't cross. _Wouldn't_ cross.

_You've done your part. It's time to let this go._

"_Let go, Kakashi_."

And yet he hesitated, looking for a reason to keep from handing over the duffle bag, which, for all he knew, was Pandora's Box just waiting to be opened.

Genma watched him struggle, said nothing. Didn't push, didn't pressure, didn't pull out any shiny senbons. Not that either of them could afford to go another round.

Kakashi sighed, unslung the bag but kept a firm hold on the strap. "This threat that you mentioned Asuma stirred up," he said quietly. "Will Shikamaru be safe from it…now that Asuma…" he couldn't bring himself to finish, felt treacherous just thinking it.

Genma nodded. "So long as _you_ let this go, then yeah. He'll be safe."

"Can you guarantee that?"

"Who can ever guarantee that, Kakashi?"

Truer words were never spoken…and Kakashi knew this bitter truth all the way from first bloody hand to long-lasting experience. Yeah. He knew better. But knowing better hadn't stopped him earlier and it didn't stop him now from searching Genma's face for some kind of reassurance…he didn't find it…found instead an odd smile twisting the corner of the Shiranui's lips…as faint and wistful as that will-o'-the-wisp light that had passed across his eyes earlier.

"The last time you looked at me that way, Kakashi, things got very complicated between us."

Kakashi blinked, didn't realise he'd let his guard down and brought it back up in that quick, casual way that made the effort seem so enviable and easy. It wasn't. And the fact that it wasn't told him he couldn't hold off the ache he'd been carrying any longer.

_Time to go._

Genma's smile slipped away…left no trace…

But Kakashi had recorded it. And he remembered it now…a look from a long-lost time ago…only he'd never understood it back then. Revisiting it now, he tried to imagine what he'd have done different, if he'd have _been_ different…if he could go back…

_But you can't._

Turning sideways with his back to the past, he hefted the duffle bag up by its strap, held out his arm, handed it over and…

_Let it go…_

* * *

**TBC. **

**A/N: **Few more answers/hints/what-the-hells still yet to come before UNDER THESE SCARS will take over the job of answering _all_ the big fat questions marks and tying up all the loose ends. Expect some ShikaNeji ahead in the next chapter as we near the finish. Reviewers, **thank you** so much again for your awesomeness. It makes my day to hear from you! After editing this crap I tend to cultivate the urge to maim and murder…then I hear from you guys and I'm all daisy-chains and chocolate balls. Love that you guys are enjoying this and appreciate you very much for taking the time to let me know…now, again to ever onwards!

**a/n: **_Ojisan - _uncle, _G__oei Shōtai__ -_ eliteguard platoon dedicated towards the protection of the Hokage. _Raiton -_ lightning release


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: NARUTO and its characters were created and are owned by Masashi Kishimoto. Original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement intended.

Title: REQUIEM

Pairings: ShikaNeji, Asuma/Kurenai, Shikaku/Yoshino

Rating: M / R (language etc.)

Genre: Angst/General

Summary: Death is a fate we all share, but grief can leave us divided. In the shadow of Asuma's death the shinobi of Konoha learn that grief, unlike death, isn't just a thief in the night – but a night in itself. (BtB series)

**Timeline**: Shippuden. Neji and Shikamaru aged 17-18 (post-Hidan and Kakuzu arc, pre-Invasion of Pain arc). Approx. 2 days after Hidan's burial.

* * *

**REQUIEM**

by Okami Rayne

**Chapter Five**

He knelt in the centre of the room, staring down at the smooth hardwood floors, polished to the sheen of a mirror, reflecting two moonstone eyes. _Fusuma_ panels fenced him in, their thick wooden frames locked in militant order; controlled, neat, sequential.

_Fixed as fate._

Stillness, but for the soft sound of breathing; with each indrawn breath, the space around him tightened, darkness pulling in until he exhaled, pushing it back. He seemed to be emitting light, felt a feathering sensation about him and raised his eyes to watch a rain of soft white plumes float down from above, moving as if through water, slowing to a stop, held in suspension.

"_I wish I could've borne you into the Main Family."_

The feathers began to fall, one by one.

"_What can't be changed must be endured."_

He felt his hands slide from his thighs, palms against the wood, spine beginning to curve in the makings of a bow.

"_We are who we are, and we must live with it."_

He tried to resist, felt a sudden pressure between his shoulder blades, two large hands pushing him down, lower to the ground; his body now smaller, weaker, useless.

_"Desire or desperation, Neji? Which is it that drives any Hyūga Branch pet?"_

And then the _fusama_ frames began to creak, the wood beneath his knees and hands began to split. The feathers shivered, picked themselves up and began to spiral about.

_"Shall we talk about_ your_ father, Hyūga Neji? He might as well have been a bastard, given his expulsion from the Main House."_

He tried to straighten, tried to ignore the scatter of plumes and re-centre his mind, but the words flew with the feathers, gaining momentum, fluttering fast.

"_It costs nothing. Because you have nothing. You take that path when you have nothing to lose."_

_"What do you think your father feared losing most? God knows it wasn't you."_

The quills became blades, slicing away at his robes. He couldn't focus, couldn't control his thoughts or concentrate enough to locate the break in his defences…

_"Neji…you must live."_

"_Why? You didn't."_

A sharp split and sting…blood welled up, ran down in thin streams.

"_Reacquaint yourself with the control I _let _you keep."_

He tried to envision a thickness in the air, a reverse current that went against the swirl of feathers. He'd done this once before in his dreams. Had that control. Wait, this wasn't a dream, was it? It couldn't possibly be a meditation…he'd lost his centre…mind scattered with the feathers…focus broken…stone cold and dead...

_"You're a stone cold bastard, Hyūga."_

And then a feather sliced deeper…far too close to the vein…

"_Don't forget what I told you…about being human."_

_ENOUGH!_

A sharp cry; a startled bird. "NEJI!"

Neji's eyes snapped open, his breath flooding out in a shudder.

Ino's face, pale and lined with concern, hovered inches from his. "Are you okay?"

It took Neji a moment to orient himself, wide eyes scanning without recognition until his thoughts settled, white feathers swept back into order. "Yes…" he husked, painfully aware how close he'd come to phrasing that as a question. He reached up to rub his brow, frowned at the sweat he found there and adjusted his headband. "What happened?"

"You gave me a massive mental kick." Ino grimaced. "Good thing I jumped out when I did."

"Jumped out? Then I wasn't able to…" he trailed off, set his hands against his thighs and resisted the urge to dig his fingers in. "I see."

Ino scooted back to give him some space. "Hey, it'll take time. Kinda hard to empty your mind when you've got someone opening up all the floodgates."

So much for keeping his memories watertight. So much leakage, so much to exploit. He might've been able to tread the waters up until that last thought. It sank like an anchor in his gut.

"_Don't forget what I told you…about being human."_

Out of context, Shikamaru's words were innocuous enough…a little personal perhaps, but then Neji had several pearls of unwanted wisdom rolling around in his brain, most of it loud and raucous and belonging to Naruto. Surely a snippet of earnest advice from the shadow-nin wouldn't be misconstrued as…

_As what?_

Stiffening, he shot Ino a quick glance, trying to assess her reaction – if any – to having stumbled across Shikamaru's voice in his mind. They'd agreed on a few boundaries as to how much access she had, giving her leeway with aural memories. Just the thought that she might stumble across some rather graphic visuals had Neji's gut roiling.

"Ino…" he began.

"Oh my god," the Yamanaka huffed, settling herself on the opposite cushion and ruffling her fingers through her hair, scratching at her scalp. "Baggage much? Your mental residue is worse than that gross coconut oil that just _wouldn't_ wash out. Lather, rinse, repeat? I don't think so."

Neji stared at her, more disturbed by the analogy than the answer.

Ino combed her fingers through her long ponytail and swished it over her shoulder. "And I thought _Shikamaru's_ brain was a chatterbox," she grumbled. "It's always the quiet ones."

Neji felt his chest tighten, breath halting in his throat. Outwardly he showed nothing. "Shikamaru allowed you to—?"

Ino's hands flew up, cutting him short. "Ha! As if." She shuffled around on the cushion, trying to get comfortable. "I don't always need to go _inside_ minds to sense the static that buzzes around them." She finally settled. "I told you before we started this that I'm just picking up random stuff and throwing it at you."

"Random?" Neji parroted, disbelieving.

Ino frowned at his tone, until she registered the defensiveness in his voice. She sighed, consoled him with a smile. "Hey, I told you. I just pull the lid off the memory box and move onto the next one. I don't go nosing around in there to make _sense_ of it all."

Something an enemy would undoubtedly do. Hence the point of this exercise; Neji had to try and keep the boxes shut while Ino worked to pry them open. It wasn't about what lay within the boxes, it was about learning to resist the mental invasion that allowed Ino to even know that they existed.

"Besides," Ino added, a finger raised to mark her point. "Our clan are _really_ strict about that kind of stuff and my dad would totally _brain_ me if he ever found out I'd invaded someone's mind that way." She set her hands at her hips and sighed with false drama, as if her mission had been foiled. "I'll just have to resist the urge to dig up all your dirty little secrets, Neji."

Neji gave a humourless laugh, more like an expulsion of pent up breath, and looked away, shaking his head. "How reassuring."

"Oh _relax_. I promised, didn't I? I'd never do that to someone unless they were an enemy." She appeared to be centring herself, eyes closed, her features soft and relaxed. A breath later her eyes slipped open. "We'll start slow this time. I won't throw so much around."

Neji's brow crept up before he could stop it.

Ino flushed, rolling her eyes. "Okay, so I get a little bit like a kid in a candy store. It's not every day someone _invites_ me to dig around in their brain. I'm surprised you even let me." She re-folded her legs, rearranged herself on the _zabuton_ cushion for the third time and set her fingertips in a meditative seal. "Okay, let's get a still point going."

Something they should've done at the start, before Neji had insisted on leaping and bounding into the deep end. Once again, rock solid ego had almost seen him sink…and as the ache in his chest reminded him, those weren't depths he could afford to be submerged in. Re-surfacing from those waters took a little more breath and a lot more effort, every time.

_Enough. Breathe._

Following Ino's lead, he let his eyes drift shut and began to focus on…

_Letting go…_

For a while there was only the stillness, a sense of mild communion between their auras. Two minds sharing the same space, at a distance but within reach of each other. He could sense the frontiers they'd established, allowed himself to envision those borders and felt Ino reinforce them. There was no threat of losing control here, so Neji allowed it…felt her presence like the grazing of a child's fingertips along the railing of a fence…no, not a fence…he brought the image into focus…

"_Cage bars,"_ Ino said, her voice a whisper in his mind.

Neji nodded, heavy, slow. With eyes still shut, he felt his body loosening, heartbeat slowing as a languorous feeling pulled him down…down…to a place where it wasn't dark or enclosed.

That surprised him.

He searched, confused by the unfamiliarity – maybe even curious. There was a harmony here. Scented like flowers…and where once he'd seen feathers he now saw petals swirling, cast about on a current far gentler than the one that had whipped about his head earlier.

And then a low voice rolled heavy on the breeze,_ "Is my smoke stinging your eyes or are you just happy to see me?"_

Neji's focus wavered at the deep, familiar timbre…

"_Hey, wait! I told you that I hid my crystal under Konoha's single standing cedar."_

"_I don't care about the crystal. I just want to see how well I do against a jōnin."_

"_Gah. Not right now. Would you quit chasing me around?"_

Asuma.

Neji felt himself turning, an incorporeal movement, vision sweeping over a flourishing mass of colour that resolved itself into a meadow; an artist's palette, spattered with fuchsia azaleas, white lilium stargazers, violet hydrangea and bright crimson poppies, their petals glistening…dripping red…almost like…

_Blood…_

So much blood.

"_Ino…tears are one thing…but you gotta stop driving in the thorns."_

"_I can't, sensei."_

Spinning, petals picking up faster than the feathers had…

"_Where'd my confident loudmouth go?"_

"_Where did _you _go?"_

"_Not as far as you think."_

Smoke, thick and clogging in the lungs…

Neji tried to withdraw and found he couldn't. Felt instead the heavy presence of a hand on his left shoulder, squeezing once. _"Don't let him run."_

And then the petals came apart; red, violet, white and pink swirling upwards into a cornflower blue sky, swallowing up the vision, the voice…the vestiges of a ghost.

And then the world receded…

Neji pulled back from the meditation, let his awareness return to his body.

_Now._

His head came up slowly, eyes refocusing, mind resettling, body reorienting itself in the Yamanaka meditation room. No field, no scent of flowers…no phantom presences…

_What was that?_

He reached up with his right hand, grasped his left shoulder, fingers kneading deep. He may have shaken the actual illusion but he couldn't shake the imprint of it.

_Was it even a memory?_

If so, why had Ino let it slip? Or had _he _slipped? He hadn't been conscious of absorbing thoughts, only releasing them. Perhaps they'd both slipped up. But more disturbing than the experience of Ino's private thoughts brushing his mind was the way those thoughts had latched onto him as if they possessed some kind of sentience.

"_Don't let him run."_

Across the short distance, Ino stirred.

Pretending to have just roused himself, Neji blinked slowly and let his focus drift around the meditation room to keep from observing Ino's reaction. Flowers dominated the _fusuma_ panels, washed-out paintings of peonies, some painted in the delicate stages of budding, others blooming into fleecy white folds.

"I need a little time," Ino said suddenly, her voice steady, much stronger than Neji had expected given the rawness of the moment they'd both shared. She took a breath, flattened her palms to her belly. "Don't get me wrong. I'll help you out. I really want to. I just…"

"I understand."

"Good," Ino said shortly. Topic closed. She watched him warily out the corner of her eye, her chin notched to a stubborn angle, waiting for the questions.

Neji had nothing to add or ask, honestly preferred not to wonder how the hell such a clear boundary had been so unwittingly crossed. It was too strange, too personal, too...

"It was too soon for me to have approached you with this," he said into the silence. "I appreciate your willingness to assist me, but I can wait." At her dubious glance he added, "I have time."

Not true, but she didn't need to know that. In fact, there was a great deal she probably didn't need to know right now. He'd been so fixed on wanting to stabilize and strengthen his own mental territory he hadn't stopped to consider that the landscape of Ino's mind might still be raw and unsettled.

_Not everyone can push away their pain…_

Or mentally bury it, as he had done countless times.

"_Troublesome Hyūga, quit making this about your head."_

"Thanks," Ino said, rising with her palms still pressed to her stomach, fingers interlocked and twisting, something Neji had seen Hinata do countless times. "Let me at least get you some tea or something." Ino didn't offer him time to decline and whisked out of the room.

Neji sat awkwardly for a moment, then pushed to his feet. He made a slow orbit of the room and paused by the alcove, his gaze tracking up from the orchid flower arrangement at the base of the _tokonoma_, to the painting that hung in the centre. An exquisite brush piece of a violet flower, it's composition layered like a watercolour, shades of purple bleeding together; mauve, indigo, mulberry and lavender, with a hint of amethyst and magenta. For all its fragility there was an indomitable strength in the smooth and masterful strokes.

Neji found himself transfixed. He wasn't a connoisseur of art by any stretch of the imagination but he could appreciate talent, no matter its form. He glanced at the quote that flowed down the right side of the picture:_ The flower of tomorrow is the seed of today._

Neji tilted his head in consideration of the words and let his gaze stray down to the artist's signature at the far corner of the parchment. The script was so small he had to squint to make out the name.

"Naoki," he murmured.

"He made it just for me."

Neji started at Ino's voice, so deeply absorbed he hadn't even sensed her presence. The smell of cinnamon wafted from behind and there came the light clink of china and the soft slosh of tea being poured.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"It is," Neji agreed, his gaze lingering on the painting before he moved towards the small table Ino had acquired. "I may be interested in commissioning the artist."

Ino stopped pouring, a lone droplet wavering at the teapot's spout. "He died."

Neji froze halfway into his kneel, white eyes flashing up. "Ah. I'm sorry." He cursed his tongue, wondering how many more graves he could possibly stumble over in the span of a few hours.

A little smile and Ino continued to pour. "Don't look so awkward, Neji. It was a long time ago," she said, waving off his discomfort. "We have quite a few print copies of his paintings, if you'd like one. But you'll have to shed some serious blood before you get your hands on the originals. My mom keeps them under lock and _katana_."

Neji smiled slightly. "Your family knew him well?" the question came out so totally unplanned that he wondered if his mind was even attached to his mouth. He had no interest in the private lives of others…this slip felt as accidental and inappropriate as his trespass into Ino's privacy earlier. He'd have apologised for asking if he didn't think it would draw more attention to how awkward this 'social' moment was.

Oblivious to his discomfort, Ino answered, seeming happy to do so. "I think we may have been related. But I only knew him as a kid." She passed him a steaming cup, her eyes on the painting, narrowed in thought. "He must'a been like…what? Ten or eleven years older than me? He used to play with me when I was little. I don't really remember him very well…small things, you know? Like finger painting and making daisy chains."

Neji hummed, holding his cup in both hands, his stiff formality at total odds with Ino's casual manner as she moved onto her own cup, sloshing in the water, adding a thick dollop of honey.

"I remember when dad told me he'd gone away," she went on softly, stirring and stirring until the thick amber droplet dissolved into the tawny brew. "I thought he meant for a while…not forever. We think such naïve things as kids."

Pain, old and buried, turned in Neji's heart, more memories rolling in their graves. He struggled then to remember what he'd thought when they'd told him his father wasn't coming back. Revisiting that time, he realised he hadn't thought at all. He'd just reacted. Launched straight into action to keep from…

_What? To keep from what?_

Perhaps to keep from asking questions as stupid as the one that blindsided his brain and made a beeline straight for his mouth. "How did he die?"

_How is my mouth still moving?_

"They never did tell me," Ino sighed, taking up her cup, turning it around and around in her palms, as if trying to divine the answer from the swirling tea leaves. "On a mission is all I know. They don't really like to talk about it." Ino glanced again at the picture, her lips tucking up in a smile. "Mom says he was really good with me." A soft snort. "I'll bet he was kinda like the son she wanted but never got."

Neji said nothing, frowned slightly at the thought that Ino could be so candid with such personal information. It went against every one of Neji's ingrained protocols – which had both served him and stymied him insofar as establishing bonds went.

_I'm not here to be social. I'm here to get stronger._

Which meant it was safer and smarter to stick to the rigid social script he'd regurgitated all his life. He understood what it was to stand on ceremony…had no idea how to proceed when nudged out of ritual politeness.

"…_you're just being all stuck-up and socially awkward."_

Naruto's voice grated along his brain, abrasive in its honesty. Neji touched the curved rim of his cup to his lips, breathing in the steam. Only one person had ever drawn him out from behind his cool wall of civility. But then, Shikamaru had understood him, had learned through trial and error, and some tactical trickery, how to push and pull Neji between two bipolar extremes, forcing him to either react to the treatment or relax into it…and then there was the rest that the shadow-nin had brought him.

"_Yeah…and I'm not sorry."_

_Neither am I. But I'll rest when I'm dead, Nara_.

Smiling grimly, Neji drew himself back to the moment.

Ino was still gazing at the painting, slender brows pulled into a tight knit. "Seriously, it's not like I'm a kid anymore. I can't believe I've never asked how he died…" She let out a sudden breath, as if winded by the admission. "I just…he was part of my life and then he wasn't. That sounds awful…like it didn't matter who he was or what he did when he wasn't playing with me or whatever." She set her tea cup down, rolled her bottom lip between her teeth. "Do you think it's wrong to ask…after all this time?"

Neji took a slow sip of his tea, deciding that having something attached to his mouth excused him from having to respond. For the most part, the question seemed rhetorical. Gods, he hoped it was. He wasn't sure what he'd have said…or what he'd have done in her position.

_Liar. You know exactly what you'd have done._

Because he'd been there, done it and lived with the scars. No, he had nothing to say about what he thought, but when she asked him what he'd have _done_, he set down his cup, stroked his thumb over a crack in the smooth white china…and told her.

* * *

Two miles and a few thousand steps closer to a run, Shikamaru went looking for clouds. He'd only found one; a massive leaden underbelly. No breaks in the formation or unpredictable patterns to be found…just one huge angry thunderhead stretching its dark girth across the village, unburdening itself in a steady drizzle. He'd sought shelter beneath an oak and stood watching the broad autumnal leaves shiver.

Yeah, he still hated the rain.

But it hadn't stopped him looking and it hadn't stop him lighting up a cigarette.

_"I know it's not real…but…the smoke looked like clouds."_

"_So you like clouds, huh?"_

"_They're the _best."

"_Yeah. I guess they're pretty cool."_

"_Smoking's not cool. It's troublesome. __It hurts your lungs and stings your eyes."_

"Yeah, but it's my _best_ bad habit," Shikamaru murmured aloud, remembering the words exactly as they'd rolled from Asuma's mouth all those years ago. All those years ago being the day they'd first met. Damn, how old had he been? Seven? He wondered if Asuma had held onto that memory too.

_Bet you never thought you'd be teaching that brat six years later, huh?_

Or that said brat would be standing here, ten years later, thinking about it. Weird, how the memory had just happened along, kind of like a dark cloud…drifting in and hanging around, saddling him with that same unshakeable heaviness he'd felt the day of Asuma's funeral. He watched the rain fall, blinked the sting from his eyes and scowled down at the cigarette lodged between his fingers.

"_I hate smoking."_

"_Keep it that way."_

So long as everyone else believed it, he could go on pretending too. Although, the stale smell clung to his clothing and the aftertaste lingered, a furry coat along his tongue. He sucked his teeth, hissed in distaste.

_Crappy make…_

They'd been fresh out of Asuma's kind.

He wrinkled his nose, brought the cigarette up with a shaky hand and pulled in another pungent breath, dry as desert wind along the back of his throat and out through his nose in a sigh. No doubt about it. It just wasn't the same as smoking Asuma's brand.

_Can't be replaced._

His chest tightened. He wrote off the pain as his lungs protesting their current abuse.

_"You bet. Go run off and save your little lungs."_

_"You're weird _and _you're gonna get in trouble."_

_"I'm a Leaf shinobi. I can get out of any trouble I get myself in. I'm not scared of trouble."_

No. Not then. Not even at the end. Not scared. Not a coward.

_Not like me._

Swallowing hard, Shikamaru tossed the half-finished smoke into a puddle, slotted his hands into his pockets and watched the rain drum along the curved eaves of the Akimichi residence, only a stone's throw away from where he stood.

He couldn't even work up the nerve to move the final paces.

He hadn't _meant_ to end up here. But then, he hadn't _meant_ to end up at the Yamanaka flower shop either. After leaving the training grounds he'd lost all sense of direction, hadn't taken in anything more than a brief glimpse of his surroundings…he'd just walked, focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Avoiding…and avoiding some more…until ending up on Ino's doorstep had kicked his avoidance strategy straight to the curb.

_What the hell would I have said to her anyway..?_

A good thing she hadn't been there, just some annoying weepy redhead who'd raged on about a psychotic customer fitting the exact, if not somewhat exaggerated, description of Kiba. No guesswork required and not a damn given. Shikamaru had left fast and launched straight into a cloud hunt, letting his feet follow another completely subconscious path. A path that'd led him here.

_First Ino…now Chōji…_

He could almost feel Asuma's ghost at his back, hands planted on his shoulders, steering him around to all the places he didn't want to go. Sighing, he slotted a hand in his pocket and brushed his thumb over the smooth metal lighter, thumbnail following the crease in the lid.

_Yeah. I hear you._

Ignoring the other voice urging him to turn around and hightail it, he ducked his head, stepped out into the pattering rain and crossed the short distance to the house. He'd just raised the back of his hand to knock when the panel slid across in a sharp _whoosh_. Chōza's broad frame filled the doorway and his small dark eyes crinkled in a smile.

"Shikamaru!" Chōza stepped sideways, reached out a thick powerful arm and clapped Shikamaru on the back, all but scooping the young Nara past the threshold and into the large stone _genkan_. "Just in time for lunch."

Stumbling to a halt, Shikamaru didn't have time to appreciate the thick spicy smell of Akimichi home cooking. A tall, lean shadow passed across the _shoji _panels that sectioned off the drawing room. The swift, ghostly movement sent an odd chill across Shikamaru's skin. He stiffened, tension holding him rigid – that is, until the screen slid back and a pair of deep-set blue-green eyes blinked back at him, displaying a hint of crow's-feet as stern angular features smoothed into an easy half-smile. "Well, speak of the devil's son."

Shikamaru relaxed, cursed his skittishness and managed a smile. "Inoichi-san."

Inoichi stepped down into the entryway and into his sandals, his sharp gaze honed like a laser before the high-beam glint of speculation toned down to a less intimidating once-over.

Shikamaru recognised the look. It was exactly like the one his mother kept fastening onto him every time he walked in the door – or just before he walked out. Guilt sank its fangs in, poisonous as a viper-bite. He flinched a little.

Inoichi cocked his head at the reaction and flashed a smile. "Good to see you, kid. You've come to get fed."

"Guess so."

"That wasn't a question. They force-feed you here." The Yamanaka feigned a wince and patted his flat belly. "You can't tell, but I'm sucking in five courses worth of food."

Chōza chuckled, a deep warm sound. "Five courses worth of _dessert_. You didn't even pace yourself."

Inoichi gave Shikamaru a conspiratorial wink. "And your old man thinks_ women_ are my weakness."

The shadow-nin gave a tight-lipped smile to contain his amusement. From what little Shikamaru knew about Inoichi's suspicious wife and her aversion to anything calorific, it was vaguely entertaining to think that Inoichi's greatest sin was hiding a sweet-tooth rather than a sweetheart.

Chōza rolled his eyes and pointed with his chin towards the hallway. "Chōji's out back, Shikamaru."

Half-suspecting that Chōza meant the rocky hillocks beyond the Akimichi residence, Shikamaru was surprised – and relieved – to find his friend hadn't gone further than one of the large rock gardens. Shikamaru paused on the veranda, his lidded gaze straying over several large boulders. They sat at random intervals, interspersed among strips of white gravel that'd been raked into waves and spirals.

A red-tiled pavilion had been stationed close by and Chōji sat beneath its wide and gently sloping roof. Supported by five crimson pillars, each engraved with myriad butterflies, the large round structure stood open on all sides. A perfect place to view the gardens…although Chōji seemed more absorbed with the steaming bowl cradled in his large palms.

Shikamaru took a diagonal path, which seemed less intrusive than coming up behind his friend. Putting himself in the Akimichi's peripheral vision, the shadow-nin stepped up onto the gazebo and sat down beside his childhood buddy, shoulders hunched against the chill.

Chōji turned his head, smiled. "Hey."

Shikamaru nodded slowly, breathing in the spicy steam of buckwheat noodles, redolent with starch and sizzling meat. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, hands hanging loose between his knees. "Yam soba, huh?"

"Yeah, with—"

"Sausage," Shikamaru finished, eyes slipping open on a smile. "Asuma's favourite. Real Buddhist of him, huh?"

Chōji chuckled but didn't comment, his focus divided between his food and the soft fuzz of rain bouncing off the gravel. Eventually, he let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head. "You smell like smoke, you know."

Shikamaru smiled wryly. "Yeah."

"That's not cool. Asuma would kick your ass."

"I know."

"So would Ino."

"Yeah."

"I kind of want to too."

"Get in line," the shadow-nin muttered, unable to beat back the smile.

The silence they settled into felt easy and lived-in, familiar in a way that had Shikamaru thinking about everything that had changed. He swallowed thickly, watched the rainwater spill its thin silver rivulets down a groove in one of the boulders before spreading out in a tiny puddle, watering a sprig of lavender flowers pushing up through the gravel.

"Where _is_ Ino?" he asked, wincing at the rasp in his voice.

Chōji chuckled and swirled his chopsticks around the bowl. "Look under the bench. Ignore the dog bowl."

Shikamaru's brow shot up at the odd reply but he did as instructed and discovered a discarded bowl filled with dog biscuits and a styrofoam cup tucked behind one stone leg. Frowning at the bowl, he reached down and rescued the cup, recognising the rainbow-hued design.

_Niji._

Using his thumb he hooked back the lid, took a sniff and gave a breathy chuckle. "Nice. Bet she threw some sugar in there, just to be troublesome."

"Or she spat in it."

Shikamaru made a face and capped the lid back on. "Was she mad?"

The look Chōji gave him was kind but honest. "Not _mad_."

Which meant she'd been something worse than pissed. Shikamaru winced, dangling the cup from his fingertips. Ino's anger he could take, but her disappointment? That crushed look that she always attempted to cover up with waspish sarcasm or a flurry of false laughter?

_What do you want me to do? What do you want me to say?_

Shikamaru sighed through his nose, set the coffee cup down at his feet and stared at the rainbow stripes, thinking about how simple and structured nature could be with its most vibrant colours…and how messy it had been with all its shades of grey, especially when it came to the force of nature known as Yamanaka Ino.

He shook his head. "Why does it have to be such a damn drag?"

"Huh?"

"Hinata doesn't give grief and Sakura beats Naruto, getting it straight outta her system," Shikamaru explained, holding out one hand to illustrate the easy cases while raising the other and balling a fist. "No evil glares or crazy long silences. Why can't Ino just throw a punch, make me bleed and get it over with?"

Chōji angled him with an odd look. "Are you taking advice from Kiba?"

Shikamaru rubbed his hands across his face. "Ugh."

Taking up his chopsticks, Chōji twirled a few strings of noodles into a bundle and popped it in his mouth, slurping quietly. "'Cause that'd be kinda stupid of you, Shikamaru." The Akimichi paused, chuckled to himself. "Wow, it's one of _those_ moments."

Shikamaru grunted distractedly. "Hah?"

"You know? When Shikamaru and stupid go in the same sentence."

"Hn. It's not like I have a strategy to work with here."

Chōji stopped twisting noodles, sighed quietly. "You don't even have a _clue_."

Shikamaru wasn't listening, his focus narrowed on the cluster of purple flowers and their random arrangement. Random, unpredictable. He couldn't win here. There was just no way because there was just no _logic_ to the leaps that Ino made or insisted _he_ make. One word, one look, one failed reaction could be misconstrued any number of ways and for all his forward-thinking he could never predict what the hell she was going to make something _mean_. If he'd found her earlier, what conclusions would she have drawn from him seeking her out? And how many of those conclusions were likely to end in that crushed look that made him feel…

_What?_

He didn't want to name it. But there it was. Stupid damn thing. That knot of barbed emotion rolling around and around in his chest, scouring and scratching and threatening to draw blood.

"I don't know what she _wants_ from me. It's like she's got all these rules and I don't get how I'm supposed to play."

Chōji frowned, his eyes fixed ahead. He continued to chew, mechanical and stiff. "Yeah," he mumbled around his mouthful. "Good luck with that."

The discordance in Chōji's tone jarred Shikamaru, harsh as an off-key note.

Blinking, the shadow-nin darted a nervous glance at his friend and knocked their knees together, swaying into the motion with a small smile. "Hey. You're supposed to be the middle man."

"You're supposed to be a genius."

Though said in jest, there was something more to the statement – the barest edge, and it nicked Shikamaru like a rusty blade. He sucked in a breath and pulled back from Chōji in another sway, making it look casual. "Yeah," he murmured. "Is it smart that I went looking for an earful from her earlier?"

A choking sound. Chōji thumped his chest to dislodge a noodle, coughing. "Seriously?"

Shikamaru's lips twitched. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"Honestly? Yeah."

And didn't that just say it all? The shadow-nin could only shake his head in bitter response, staring out at the rain. "Right," he sighed. He could feel Chōji's gaze on him, wide-eyed and worried. He tensed under the scrutiny. "What?"

"You should tell her you were looking for her."

"Not a chance."

Chōji set the bowl down on the bench between them. "Why not?"

"Because…" Shikamaru shot him a withering look. "She overreacts. To _everything_."

"Yeah, because you _don't_."

Shikamaru's spine tightened. He fought the urge to sit up and instead brought his hands together in a slow clasp between his knees, speaking very quietly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Chōji's sigh rushed between them, water under shaky bridges. "Nothing."

"You think stuff doesn't affect me?" the shadow-nin asked in that same low tone, veins striping the back of his hands. "What? You want me to cry on your shoulder?"

Chōji winced. "Don't do that," he said, his large hands curling into two tight clubs. "You know that's not what I meant."

"So give it to me straight." Shikamaru cut a sideways look at the trembling fists. "You don't even have to use words."

"That's not funny, Shikamaru."

"I'm not joking."

Chōji turned away, the trembling running along his arms now. Tension cranked with every shudder. "Why are you being like this?"

"Being like what?"

Shaking his head, Chōji planted his feet wide apart and stood with the slow deliberateness of someone trying to stay balanced on unsteady ground. "I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry, okay?"

Shikamaru's jaw ticked at the apology. "You're sorry…" he echoed flatly. "For what? For being kind? Or for being a coward?"

Chōji turned abruptly. Expression crumbling, he stared down at Shikamaru through eyes as hurt and disbelieving as a backhanded child. And suddenly, he _was_ a child, the kid from Shikamaru's memories, fists raised to defend himself against Asuma's weak and glancing blows, making no move to attack his sensei.

"_Chōji! Fight, you coward!"_

Asuma's knuckles connecting, hard enough to jolt. And Shikamaru had understood even then that attacking Chōji was never the way because…

"_It's not because Chōji's scared. He doesn't want to hurt Asuma-sensei the way he's hurting now."_

Now.

_Right now._

Shikamaru clasped his hands tighter, struggling to keep a grip on the act. His nostrils flared against the sting of salt burning a path up his nose and behind his eyes. His brows lifted dryly. "I've got no problem being straight with you. So do me a favour and just _say_ what you're thinking."

Chōji squeezed his eyes shut and stepped away, right up to the edge of the gazebo, fists hanging by his sides; weapons he wouldn't use. Even his words could only cut so deep, always softened by the concern, the gentleness, the kindness…

"_He's kind. Right down to his very core."_

Pain welled up behind Shikamaru's eyes before they sliced into two dark chips, cutting the dampness into a silver thread across his lash lines. "Say it, Chōji," he ground out, fighting against his heart and willing his friend to call him on it, catch him out…chase him down. "Asuma's not here to pat your head or hold your hand."

Chōji thumped a fist against one of the butterfly pillars, grinding his knuckles into the wood. He shook his head. "But _we're _still here, aren't we?" And then, softer. "Aren't _you_?"

Shikamaru felt the tears burning, ignored them and shoved to his feet, knocking over the coffee; it went sloshing black and cold across the stones. "Dammit, Chōji," he growled, stabbing a finger back towards the Akimichi residence. "If Ino's pissed at me, if _you're_ pissed at me, then _be _pissed at me!"

"We're _not_ pissed at you," Chōji rasped, knuckles grinding harder, flesh tearing, wood splintering. "But it's like you _want_ us to be. Like you…" his voice shrivelled into a whisper, all but closing off on his next words. "It wasn't your fault, Shikamaru."

Pain, a vicelike grip at his throat.

_Breathe._

A rough, shaky breath and Shikamaru's eyes climbed upwards in restraint, trying to push the tears back down. He stared at the dripping eaves, jaw locked, the air a stale rock in his throat. "Chōji," he croaked tightly.

Chōji leaned into his fist, the powerful muscles of his shoulders bunched up into two heaving mountains, trembling beneath the weight of emotion, taking on more pain than Shikamaru could stand to see him carry.

_And YOU put that there. _

Shikamaru froze, the anger guttering out.

_You put that on your best friend…_

Nausea rammed him, punched all the breath out of his lungs. He almost bowled over, hands on knees. Bile crawled up his throat, a suffocating fire. He raised his hands, stared at them, then at Chōji's back, expecting to find a blade lodged there with shadow-hands fastened around the hilt, twisting and driving the hurt deeper.

_You did this to your best friend…what kind of bastard are you?_

The worst kind. The kind that knew better and deserved less. Asuma had once told him to share the load, but if this was the cost then he sure as hell wasn't willing to pay it. Not now, not ever again.

Shikamaru swiped at his eyes, coming up behind the Akimichi one tentative step at a time. "Chōji," he husked. "I'm s—"

"It wasn't your fault…" Chōji said, voice thick with tears. "Asuma wa—"

"Asuma would kick my ass for being such a jerk," Shikamaru said, interrupting fast to avoid being absolved. He didn't want forgiveness for what he'd done, but damn he wanted to _fix_ it. He slung an arm around his friend's broad shoulders, hooked the crook of his elbow against Chōji's thick bull neck and tugged gently. "Hey, c'mon. Breaking your fist won't make you feel any better." He snorted, adding with a smile, "Trust me, I know."

Trust wasn't something Chōji ever had a problem handing over, wholeheartedly and without question. It gutted Shikamaru to see how easily his friend relaxed into his grip, giving up the fight as if the shadow-nin hadn't provoked it.

"I'd put my fist through a hundred walls before I hit you, Shikamaru."

Time ripped down the centre, a strip of memory peeling off the walls of Shikamaru's mind, revealing childhood memories he kept plastered up in places far more guarded than his head. Far more tender. Two kids holding out their hands, forefingers linked in the equivalent of a pinkie promise.

_You're my best friend, you know that?_

Ducking his head, Shikamaru tightened his hold around Chōji's neck in a brief squeeze. The Akimichi jumped a little in surprise, but he knew Shikamaru well enough not to return the embrace and embarrass him. Without fuss or added awkwardness, the Akimichi accepted the atypical gesture in that gentle and undemanding way he accepted the all the shadow-nin's actions; right or wrong, for better or worse – he just rolled with the punches, fists up but never swinging.

_You're more than my best friend. You're the best person I know…_

And for that Shikamaru owed him more than he could ever give.

_I won't let you down again. You, or Ino._

He drew his arm back but didn't pull away, stood beside Chōji with their shoulders touching, gazing out at the rain. After a time he cleared his throat, murmured into the quiet, "Guess I owe you guys some hot pork soba."

Chōji chuckled quietly, dragging a forearm across his eyes. "Sounds good to me, but Ino won't touch it." He shrugged at Shikamaru's questioning look. "She's on some new diet."

_Ah._

Which meant any place serving meals in excess of 500 calories or 5 grams of fat was out of the question. Shikamaru scratched at the bridge of his nose and smoothed his fingers along an eyebrow as he considered all the alternatives.

_Too much trouble._

"Guess I'll just have to shadow-possess her ass and drag her. You can do the force-feeding." Chōji laughed and the sound warmed Shikamaru into returning the amusement with a crooked smile. "It's funny that you think I'm joking."

"Like you'd do that."

_First time for everything…_

Although the first time might turn out to be the last if Ino was still pissed at him. Shikamaru dawdled at the edge of the pavilion, poised on the balls of his feet, see-sawing in a moment's hesitation before he hopped down onto the wet gravel and began a lazy stroll back towards the house.

"Get my grave ready," he called over his shoulder.

"Whoa, wait. You're actually gonna do it?" Chōji remained behind, shifting from foot to foot, unable to keep from calling after him. "H-hey! You want some help?"

Shikamaru smiled slightly and raised his hand in a backward wave. "I got this."

Blasé as bullshit. Asuma would've seen straight through it. Unfortunately, the Sarutobi's subtle insights must've rubbed off because Chōji and Ino had begun to see through it too. Ever since his birthday, Shikamaru had felt that same sense of transparency beginning to take hold when he was with his teammates. He'd need to find a way to fix that without pushing them away or pulling back into the shadows.

_I'll do whatever I have to, to protect them. _

Because they didn't need to see the part of him that Asuma had seen.

_I won't lay that on them, sensei…_

Besides, the less they knew, the less he had to remember; and the less he remembered, the less he had to run. And if he ran now…

"_Don't run."_

_I won't._

For all his broken promises and mislaid plans, he'd sworn the night of Asuma's funeral that he wouldn't run away anymore. A promise he'd sealed with Hidan's burial; an act that went much deeper than vengeance. Staring into the flames and rubble, he knew he'd sent far more than his sensei's killer into that grave, interring a part of himself in the process.

_Watch over my past, sensei. Keep it buried in the shadows…where it's always belonged._

* * *

"_I would not bury anyone in the past, dead or alive, who I believed had played a significant part in shaping me into the person I am today. I'd dishonour my own progress if I refused to acknowledge the people and the places that had brought me to this moment."_

Reflecting on Neji's words, Ino conjured an image of the dead man whose small but somehow significant part in her past had brought her to _this _present moment. She hovered in the doorway to her mother's domain; a large, airy room dedicated to the art of _ikebana_. A huge oak table dominated the workspace, laden with florist tools and piles of stems, sprigs, flowers and leaves. Lining the sides of the room, various flower arrangements sat in elegant repose, some upright, some slanting, all perfectly manicured, faultlessly balanced, their configurations so precise…

_So proper. So pretty. So perfect._

Ino bit her lip, reached up to comb a few errant strands away from her face, berating herself for giving in to the urge to groom. Surrounded by such immaculate beauty, she felt like the ugliest of weeds as her gaze strayed across to the woman who personified the elegance and poise captured in each flawless display.

Her mother.

Yamanaka Sayuri sat to the left of the table, her svelte form wrapped in a sheath of teal silk, every sleek line accentuated. No curves, just smooth angles, refined as a crystal wand on display. She moved with the finesse of a geisha, plucking leaves off a delicate spray of mimosa, the tiny violet flower-heads shivering with every harsh tweak. Another day in the pursuit of aesthetic perfection.

Ino brushed her hands over the large shapeless baggy t-shirt she'd slipped back into, smoothing out the rumpled fabric that hid all the details of her body. "Mom…"

Pale brown eyes flicked up, narrowing in immediate disapproval as Sayuri did a quick head-to-toe assessment of her daughter, thin brows pulling into a frown. "Darling, daddy's given you an entire wardrobe and yet you insist on wearing that lost and found atrocity."

Ino's face flushed a mottled pink. She twisted her fingers into the hem of the oversized shirt. "Yeah, I—"

"_Yes_," Sayuri enunciated in a sibilant hiss.

"Yes," Ino corrected, teeth bared in a pained smile. "I keep meaning to return it." She rubbed the fabric between her fingers. "But it's comfortable for lounging."

Sayuri sniffed delicately and turned back to her flowers. "It doesn't do you any favours to get lazy, Ino. A woman can never afford to be complacent. Remember what I told you about always being prepared? You never know who's going to come calling," she paused, a sly smile tilting her mouth. "Hyūga Neji, for instance?"

Ino felt the colour draining from her cheeks and wished she could shrink deeper into the comfort of Chōji's t-shirt. "It's nothing like that, mom. I'm helping him with training."

Sayuri smiled that private, indulgent little smile that adults tended to give clueless children, humming. "Of course, dear."

Ino pressed her lips. No purpose would be served by challenging her mother's opinion on the matter. To admit that Hyūga Neji had about as much interest in her as he did what colour nail varnish she was wearing would be asking for a mouthful of motherly advice on how best to acquire his attention. She hadn't come here to be pruned by her mother's sharp eye and cutting tongue.

_She does it because she loves you, you know._

She believed it utterly, held onto that blossoming hope and ignored the thorns digging into her heart. She watched her mother contemplate an anthurium leaf, considering every broad and waxy curve, stroking her fingers over the heart-shaped edges. Such meticulous attention to delicacy and proper form.

"How did Naoki die?" The words exploded out of Ino's mouth, no delicacy, no proper form. Mortified, she resisted the urge to clamp her hand over her mouth.

For a torturous moment, Sayuri stayed poised precisely where she'd stopped, with a stem slotted half-way into the floral foam. She resumed seconds later, twisting the anthurium until it faced the right direction before she straightened on her stool and took up a soft sprig of asparagus fern. "What a horrid thing to ask," she said.

Ino jolted as if slapped.

"_Mommy, why don't you and daddy hold hands anymore?"_

"_What a horrid thing to ask!"_

Stroking a hand up to her throat, Ino curled her fingers and swallowed hard. "Why?" she pressed softly. "Was it a horrid death? Is that why you never told me?"

"Ino," said so softly, with such a subtle edge. Her mother knew exactly how to deliver her disapproval, delicately, dangerously. "You were a little girl. I'm surprised you even remember him."

"Is it so wrong to want to remember him?"

Sayuri contemplated the fern, set it down and shook her head. "Roses, I think."

Ino grit her teeth. "Wasn't he family? We were related."

"_Distantly_ related," Sayuri clarified, slicing the blood tie down to a thread. "You weren't even close."

As if a precious toy had been snatched away from a memory box, Ino felt all of six years old. "But he played with me when I was a child."

"He'd babysit for us, Ino," Sayuri said cuttingly. "For heaven's sake we paid the boy to do it."

"He made me that painting."

"I commissioned it."

Snatched. Gone. Seedlings of stupid childish fantasy blown away…

"_He made it just for me."_

Ino's fingers dropped from her throat, gnarled into deep red fabric as her heart twisted in her chest. "But…I thought…"

Sayuri sighed, snipped the end off a rose stem. "Ino. You know how much I loved those paintings. I wanted you to feel special too so I asked him to do it. He knew how much it would mean to me."

"To _you?"_

"_He made it just for me."_

Ino shook her head, snatched a jerky breath. "But he played with _me_, took an interest in _me_," she insisted, stepping into the room, stepping into territory she'd never cared to explore and couldn't understand why, gaining momentum with every word. "I may not have mattered to him but he mattered to me."

"Now you're just being childish."

"Didn't he matter at _all_ to you and daddy?"

Sayuri dropped the rose, a hand fluttering up to the large aquamarine gem dangling from her neck. She stabbed Ino with the anguished eyes of a victim, a look she'd pinned on Inoichi countless times. "You spiteful girl. Of _course _he mattered." She shook her head, utterly aghast, wrongly accused. She picked up the fallen rose with trembling fingers. "How can you say such a wicked—"

"Mother, _please,"_ Ino whispered, the formality as strained as her voice. "Please just tell me how he died."

"Honourably." The answer was flat and final. And just like that, Sayuri's trembling stopped. Drawing herself up, she tossed her head in a gesture Ino recalled from childhood, patting the back of her elaborate brown coif to smooth back imagined flyaway strands. "He died doing his duty. And that's the only thing that matters in the end. As I'm sure you're well aware."

Ino frowned, thrown by the statement. "Well aware?"

Sayuri turned back to her arrangement and slid another stem into the foam, precise as a surgeon. A little tweak and twist and she turned back to face Ino, careful to keep her knees together and slanted at the correct ladylike angle. Folding her hands in her lap, her expression remained perfectly schooled, impervious to her daughter's watery stare. "Darling, I know that you miss Asuma."

"_What_…?" Ino mouthed, stunned by the cruel and sudden misdirection. Tears rushed up, hot and angry. She sucked in a breath, struggled to return to the topic at hand. "That's _not_ why I—"

"Yes," Sayuri cut in. "I expect it is. But just because you're hurting that's _no_ excuse to bring up painful memories for the rest of us."

Even if she'd had the words to respond, Ino couldn't work them around the thick knot of tears lodged in her throat. Her windpipe had constricted, allowing for nothing but a thin stream of air. The first tear slipped, treacherously slow.

"Oh, Ino." Sayuri rose from her stool, her petal lips wilting in elegant sympathy. She came forward, arms outstretched, and took her daughter's face between her thin, bejewelled hands. "So much like your father. What am I going to do with you two?" She kissed Ino's forehead and swept aside the long golden bangs with the backs of her fingers, twisting the ends and rearranging the strands like wisps in a flower display, framing the tear-stained cheek just so. "It'll all be brighter in the morning. Go freshen up now, petal. It upsets me to see you like this."

_Don't upset, Mommy…_the child-voice whispered…_she'll have one of her spells…_

Ino gazed at her mother, the tears standing like a wall between them.

Taking Ino's silence for contrition, Sayuri smiled softly. "That's my sweet girl. And do return this," she plucked at Ino's top as if it were a stubborn weed. "You may be your father's daughter but we can't have you dressing like a boy, can we?"

If Sayuri said anything more, Ino didn't hear it. She barely saw her mother's form float off through the watery mesh of colour, back to the table, back to the flowers, back to the perfect, proper form…

_She does it because she loves you, you know._

Ino turned as if in a dream, dazed and disoriented. She stretched out a hand, felt the doorframe and moved out into the corridor, fingers scratching along the wall, searching for support. She tried to snag a breath and almost choked. An urgency to escape compelled her onwards and she felt her feet moving fast, bare soles brushing in quick sweeps across dry tatami mats, over the threshold, onto wet planks and soggy turf…grass tickling her ankles, the damp hem of the t-shirt hanging heavy around her knees…rain in her hair…fire in her eyes…flooding down her cheeks in hot streams…emotions spiralling...world spinning…

And then a collision with something black and solid and standing still…

"Ino."

She jerked her head up, stared through a wall of water and a sheet of rain into dark brown eyes cut sharper than thorns. Horror, it washed her cold. She stared, wide-eyed and frozen, waiting for all the signs of rejection to ripen on his face, pulling his cheeks taut, drawing his lips thin.

His arms came around her like vines.

Shocked, Ino stood rigid…every muscle braced for the shove that would finally shatter her. She waited for the brush off, the cold shoulder, the sensation of being ground under foot as he swivelled on his heel and sought an exit.

She felt her knees shaking, her heart throbbing…

And then she felt his chin atop her head, a soft breath across her hair. "You know," Shikamaru murmured. "I'm pretty sure I'm doing this right. I saw it in a movie once."

Relief…so strong it took the strength out of her knees. Ino laughed, a hoarse shudder of breath that wrangled into a sob. She snaked her arms around him, dug her fingers into his back and let the perfect world and the proper form go straight to hell as she finally crumpled.

Shikamaru hauled her back up, propped her against him.

Dazed, Ino shook her head in mute disbelief, vaguely aware that his chin lifted and settled to accommodate the movement. Shikamaru? Being _accommodating_? Funny how the world could turn on its head even as it was falling apart. Maybe it would all make sense in a minute. She'd wake up and this would all be some cruel dream. Just like Asuma sitting casually at the end of her bed, sharing wisdom she didn't remember. Yes, that explained it. She'd wake up and Shikamaru wouldn't be here. He'd be back on _proper_ form, present but unapproachable, keeping her and Chōji at arm's length.

His arms tightened around her. "Troublesome girl," he said it softly, without the edge, without the embarrassment.

A fresh flood of tears and Ino pressed her cheek against his chest, felt the steady thud of his heartbeat, the rise and fall of breath. She clung on, cursed herself for needing support and cursed Shikamaru for being the one to give it. He'd only snatch it away again, leave her floundering and feeling foolish.

But she had no strength shove him away.

As if sensing her struggle, Shikamaru tipped his head down. "Hey," he husked. "Any port in a storm, right?"

Sniffing hard, Ino dropped her head against his chest, breathed deep and tried to force some sass, her voice breaking all the same. "You owe me," she whispered.

No snarky comment, no long-suffering sigh. Just a steady beat deep down in his chest, followed by a murmur so soft that she almost missed it. "I know."

* * *

He knew the pattern, recognised the game play and could envision the plan.

_Climbing silver._

He'd seen it before, laid out just like this; all the pieces in position, a frozen re-enactment of what went down that day.

"Damn it, boy…" Shikaku sighed.

A flutter of wings.

Droplets sprayed across the tatami from behind.

Shikaku glanced over his shoulder, watched the peregrine falcon hop boldly along the veranda and right up to the threshold, toeing the invisible line. Wings tucked to its sides, the bird ducked its head between Shikaku's legs in a cockeyed attempt to see past the elder Nara and into the vacancy of the guest room.

Amused, Shikaku tipped his head down, a dark brow drawing up. "No breadcrumb trails, hnm?"

The bird looked up and released a soft _kee_, feathers fanning out in the avian equivalent of a shrug. Shikaku gave a rusty chuckle, reached into his pocket and plucked out a deer biscuit between two long fingers, waving it back and forth. The bird followed the movement, transfixed. Shikaku continued the motion, caught the movement of his shadow swaying side-to-side...felt a hypnotist's pendulum swinging in his mind…and his eyes glazed with memory.

"_He's glazing over again."_

"_So are you."_

"_No. That's me deeply contemplating how to entertain this kid."_

"_You should be deeply contemplating how to entertain his first steps."_

"_I told you before, I can always speed that along."_

"_Shikaku, you are not shadow-possessing our 9 month old child."_

"_It'll entertain him. It'll entertain me."_

_Yoshino gave him that long level look over the top of the fridge. "No."_

_Shikaku raised his hands in surrender only to jerk forward when Shikamaru toppled backwards in his lap. He caught his son around the waist, braced like a man holding a time-bomb. He let out a gust of breath, shaking his head. "You see that, right there," he bobbed his brows towards his son. "That's scheming."_

"_I guess he gets that from you too," Yoshino muttered, retreating back to the fridge, having rushed forward at the first sign of trouble. "Remind me again why I married into your clan?"_

"_Ah, that's easy__.__" Shikaku rocked onto his knees, held Shikamaru aloft and brought him down to kiss his tiny button nose, grinning. "__Nara men have mastered all the ways to utilise a bed."_

_Yoshino snorted. "Don't I know it."_

_"I should hope so, dear," Shikaku drawled. "__I wasn't talking about nap time."_

"_Shikaku!"_

"_Relax, woman." Laughing, Shikaku knelt down and went about settling Shikamaru on a wide play mat scattered with a variety of toys geared mostly towards education and learning. Yoshino had selected them specifically to encourage early development of sensory, numeric and language skills; some shiny, some squeaky, most soft and all safe for chewing._

_Shikaku took up the one toy designed for cuddling; a gangly looking stuffed deer. He attempted to animate the animal, tucking his fingers behind the deer's head, playfully butting the floppy antlers against Shikamaru's feet. The small toes curled on reflex, but Shikamaru just blinked sleepily, little lids hovering at half-mast._

"_Not impressed, hmn?" Shikaku chuckled, leaning in to kiss his son's forehead, his beard irritating a sneeze and then a frown out of the child. _

_With a cranky shuffle, Shikamaru flopped sideways and onto his stomach, letting out a long croaky whine that hinted at tears before bedtime._

_Yoshino caught the sound, went very still. "Shikaku?"_

_Wincing, Shikaku stretched out beside his son, elbow propped, head resting in his palm. He stroked his fingers through the small tuft of spiky hair sticking up from Shikamaru's head, making it stand even more on end. "Cut your old man some slack, hmn?"_

_Shikamaru blinked up at him and began to squirm, turning his face away. _

_Sighing, Shikaku settled a large hand across his son's back, thumb tapping just beneath Shikamaru's nape. A soothing touch, accompanied by a soft 'ssh' that, after a few minutes, seemed to do the trick in lulling the boy to sleep._

_Or at least he thought it had. _

_Leaning over, Shikaku realised that Shikamaru's eyes were in fact wide open, frozen in a stare. Shikaku's __heart stopped dead in his chest. H_ead jolting off his palm, his mind veered in panic until he realised that yes, Shikamaru was still breathing and no, he wasn't staring vacantly into space...in fact, the kid was alert, his attention fixed on the opposite wall. 

_It was only when Shikaku looked up that he realised why…_

_Shikamaru was watching their shadows._

_Relief, followed by a thrill that tingled through Shikaku's blood, a mix of pride and excitement. Close behind came the familiar rush of chakra. With a slow smile, he raised his hand and began to make shadow-puppets. _

_Shikamaru watched, engrossed, as tendrils began to peel away from the wall, snaking towards him in lazy twists and turns. __The boy wriggled his toes, reached out a stubby little hand towards the shadows, gurgling softly. Incredible, how responsive he seemed, eyes bright and fully open, lips tucked up into a toothless grin, dimples cutting into soft round cheeks, all those tiny little features twitching with more expression and excitement than Shikaku had ever dared hope to see._

_Laughing softly, he looked up to catch his wife's eyes._

_The smile died on his lips._

_Yoshino stood rigid by the counter, one hand gripping the marble edge, the other wrapped firmly around the hilt of the kitchen knife. A pulse beat visibly in her throat, lips open, no breath coming in or going out and those beautiful brown eyes, so full of fear, were fixed on him, looking at him as if he were a stranger in their home, a danger to their child._

"What are you doing?"

Shikaku twisted around at Yoshino's voice.

The force of his gaze slammed into her, knocking her back a step. She braced her palm against the open _shoji,_ watching him with a small frown. "Shikaku?" No accusation, no fear, no terror fluttering at her throat. Just open concern, etched softly at the corners of her eyes and in the cast of her mouth. "What's wrong?"

The bird wobbled back, squawking at her intrusion.

The screech broke Shikaku's trance. He cleared his throat, turned back to the falcon. "Nothing's wrong," he said and, crouching down, he crumbled the deer biscuit onto the veranda with trembling fingers, clapping his hands free of the crumbs. "Just wondering where that kid is."

He heard Yoshino come up behind him. Standing, he found himself in the immediate circle of her arms, her cheek warm against the damp fabric clinging to his back. He tried not to tense, willed his mind to release the memory and his muscles to relax.

"He's out with Ino and Chōji," she said.

Shikaku closed his eyes, relief stroking across his face. "Good."

A warm feeling, knowing that. He sat with it, let it thaw out the cold residue of the past. He vaguely heard talons scratching as the falcon hopped about, pecking up crumbs. The cold pummel of the rain continued on beyond the porch. He felt the warmth of Yoshino's breath, a fire between his shoulder-blades, burning a gentle path straight through to his chest.

When she made to pull away, Shikaku hooked an arm back, anchoring her against him, perhaps a little harder than was necessary. He consciously relaxed his grip, waited for her to pull back.

Her arms stayed around him. "Dinner will burn."

"I'll take you out."

"Hmn. Anything to avoid punishment. You and your terrible timing," she muttered, sweeping her hands lower, fingers interlocking above his stomach. "Oh, Inoichi stopped by earlier."

Shikaku's eyes slipped open halfway. He waited.

"He didn't stay long, but I fed him," Yoshino went on. "You know that man can put away food faster than Chōza? Mooching my son's dinner," she groused, rubbing Shikaku's taut belly. "Doesn't Sayuri feed him?"

Smirking, Shikaku tipped his head back, grazing her with his ponytail. "Not every wife is as well trained as mine."

A sharp sting and Shikaku jumped at the pinch of teeth against his ear, felt the hot-cold tingle of tongue and breath followed by an immediate ripple of arousal. He huffed, glancing at her out the corner of his eye. "Or as violent."

Standing on tiptoes, Yoshino grinned sweetly and kissed the abused skin. "You didn't answer my question."

"You know better than to ask me about that woman."

Yoshino pouted against his ear, threatened another bite, only to buss her lips across his cheek. "Then I suppose there's no point in asking why Inoichi looked like a kicked puppy when I told him you were out."

Shikaku sighed, shaking his head. It never ceased to amaze him how someone as fiercely rational and analytically sound as Inoichi could possess the emotional intelligence of a teenager the second that alcohol or anger entered his system. Normally calm and level-headed under the most extremes of pressure, Inoichi seemed capable of handling blood-raising levels of stress – until something deeply personal cracked the cool crust, allowing for repressed emotion to ooze out like lava, hot and stinging. He tended to cool over just as fast, but by then, the damage was done.

_And even then…_

Shikaku smiled slightly. Even if he _could_ crank up the energy to be angry with Inoichi, his fondness for the Yamanaka and his deep regard for their friendship would always triumph over any transgression made in drunken error. They were all raw, all worried, all unsure of the future and what that meant for their children…

_Don't._

Those thoughts, those fears, they belonged in places that went beyond the normal standards of personal, buried deep in the caves of Shikaku's mind and heart…places even _he_ didn't dare to tread without some serious lifelines to lead him back.

_Lead me back._

Shikaku released a soft breath. "Yoshino…"

Something in his voice pulled her head up. She stepped around him, splayed her palms against his chest and ducked her head to catch his gaze. "Mmn?"

Shikaku gazed down at her, emotion glistening just beneath the surface of his eyes as the past opened up like a wound across his face, more vicious than the scars. "Do you remember what I said to you? The night that ANBU released me?"

Shock rippled across Yoshino's face, followed immediately by the pain, it froze her expression but broke in her eyes, filling up those beautiful dark depths with ribbons of silver. Raising a hand, she stroked her fingertips across Shikaku's scars, then down to his lips, shaking her head. "Why are you saying this...?"

He took her by the hips, tugged her closer, his grip rough, his eyes soft and his voice caught somewhere in between. "Tell me what I said."

Staring at his mouth, Yoshino steeled herself, took his face between her palms, raised his head and looked him in the eye…seeing straight through the smoke and shadows, straight through the layers of past and present...straight through to the man she'd almost lost. The same man that would sometimes leave...taking half her heart with him...using it to lead him back.

"To remind you," she whispered. "You told me, to remind you."

Shikaku held her gaze, fell into the black and silver, the tears and tenderness. He nudged their open mouths on a ragged breath. "Remind me," he whispered into the kiss. "Remind me."

* * *

**TBC. **

**A/N: **Ok. So I had me a plan. Should've known better. I'd intended to fit the ShikaNeji encounter in here, but apparently the lazy genius and his co-star cohorts had unfinished business. I estimate two more chapters to come (unless by some miracle I squish it all into ONE long instalment. Ha. We'll see.). Apologies for the false advertising in my last A/N (totally unintentional) but yes, ShikaNeji _is_ on the way along with a few more revelations before we lay Requiem to rest. **Reviewers! **_Thank you_ so much for your feedback for the last chapter! Made my hectic week and gave me a lot of reassurance with regards to the interwoven stories of the secondary characters – I can't help but flesh them out a bit…I'm sorry, it's a weakness but I can't refuse them. Where there be wounds, there be words…and you guys know how much of a sadist I am. My thanks always for your feedback! Hope you enjoyed this instalment. Thoughts always warmly welcomed.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: NARUTO and its characters were created and are owned by Masashi Kishimoto. Original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement intended.

Title: REQUIEM

Pairings: ShikaNeji, Asuma/Kurenai, Shikaku/Yoshino, Kakashi/Genma

Rating: M / R (language etc.)

Genre: Angst/General

Summary: Death is a fate we all share, but grief can leave us divided. In the shadow of Asuma's death the shinobi of Konoha learn that grief, unlike death, isn't just a thief in the night – but a night in itself. (BtB series)

**Timeline**: Shippuden. Neji and Shikamaru aged 17-18 (post-Hidan and Kakuzu arc, pre-Invasion of Pain arc). Approx. 2 days after Hidan's burial.

* * *

**REQUIEM**

by Okami Rayne

**Chapter Six**

Wood-smoke hung like a death shroud, heavy and grey, as if the clouds had drifted down, congregating like ghosts for the ceremony.

_"You stood there...watched her lay those flowers at his grave."_

Genma stood in the centre of the deserted glade, watching the flames lick high. Sparks flew from the blaze, expelled by the dry snap of kindling before they fizzled out, shrivelling into ash – like the light in the Shiranui's eyes.

"_How relieved you must've been."_

He bit down, felt the senbon slice deep into the roof of his mouth. Blood welled, salty and metallic. It slipped over his tongue, trickled past his lips and dribbled down along the needle, gathering at the silver point, a ruby in the firelight.

"_Do you care at all that Asuma went to his grave believing you'd betrayed him?"_

Genma spat, watched the senbon vanish into the flames, chipping wood, sending up sparks. It glowed white-hot. Stroking his tongue through the gash in his mouth, he raised one of two shōchū bottles dangling from his fingers. He'd brought the liquor to help start the blaze, using some for the bonfire, the rest for his blood.

"_Sorry Asuma. I guess I hold my drink better than you do."_

Genma took a swig, tasted bitter copper in the mix. It went down with a burn. But it failed to take the edge off the chill inside him. The cold remained, gnawed deeper.

_Get on with it._

He shrugged the duffle bag off his shoulder. It hit the ground and fell open like a corpse's mouth, the unfastened zip bearing rows of tiny silver teeth; death's mocking grin. And behind that ugly smile, the secrets lay crumpled; carbon-copy papers, reports, listings…the complete stash of Asuma's detective work.

_Guess you did what you had to do…_

_"Why? Is that what you're doing?"_

"Always," Genma murmured.

Crouching down, he took a quick swig from the shōchū bottle and poured the rest over and into the bag's gaping maw. The pink carbon paper soaked it up, darkened like a swollen tongue, dissolving the truth in wet blotches.

By the orange glow of the firelight, Genma worked as if handling the contents of a body-bag, dousing all the entrails of the truth before taking the zipper's puller between his knuckles, precise as a coroner with a corpse. Death's face grinned back at him until with one smooth glide, he zipped that wide and ugly mouth into a tight and silent line.

And then he kicked the bag into the flames.

With a great gulp and puff, the conflagration flared, spitting cinders from the pyre. Taking a single step back, Genma tossed the other bottle into the blaze, didn't even flinch when the glass popped, sending a hot burst of flame belching upwards. Through the vaporous haze, the bag appeared to writhe and dance…the death throes of the truth, another victim of the game. No second chances.

_"You know what your problem is, Shiranui? You and Kakashi__...you guys don't believe in second chances..."_

_"I don't need second chances. I do it right the first time."_

_"Bullshit...__Kurenai...those kids...they're my second chance...my last shot..."_

_"Your last shot was four drinks back, Sarutobi. Go home."_

_"Good plan, Hardass. We need a Sweetass."_

_"If you hadn't guessed, that would be Kurenai."_

_"Thanks, Hatake, I got that."_

Genma stared into the fire, bronze eyes narrowed against the raging heat.

And still, the cold bit deeper.

He waited until the bag was but a smouldering husk before he moved to put out the flames. A dying hiss and defiant spit later, black smoke mushroomed up towards the darkening skies, caught and carried by the breeze. Fire extinguished, Genma kicked dirt onto the cooling embers, waited another few minutes and then drifted with the smoke back towards the village.

* * *

The summons had come by pig post. While Neji hadn't sensed much urgency in Tonton's unintelligible message of oinks and whines, the written order to report straight to the Hokage Tower had set the Hyūga on edge. Thoughts of ANBU had swarmed in the back of his mind, an intermittent buzz – that is, until the Godaime had handed him a scroll. Now, standing in the centre of Tsunade's office, absorbing the details of the paper in his hand, the silence in his mind was absolute.

He could feel the Godaime's gaze on him, steady and speculative…waiting.

Granite-faced, Neji tilted his head ever so slightly. "I'll assemble a team."

The corners of Tsunade's mouth quirked in a brittle smile. "An S-Rank assignment and no questions asked? You're already halfway there, Neji."

He glanced up.

Tsunade's eyes remained dead to the humour. She looked worn, weighed upon, giving Neji the barest impression of the frailer form that lay beneath the youthful veneer of her Transformation Technique.

A considering pause and she turned her attention back to her desk, scooping up papers with a sharp _clack_. "Make no mistake, our primary focus is unarguably the Akatsuki, but we—_damn_" she cut off with a growl, searching for something, her tired amber gaze raking over sheets and ink pots, alighting briefly on a small Buddhist statue set to one corner of her desk. Her expression softened. "But we owe a great deal to those who got caught in the crossfire of our battles."

Neji's head came up a fraction. He studied her from beneath his lashes, brows tugging together. The ambiguity of the statement raised all kinds of questions that had no shortage of answers. The way she'd phrased it, it could've alluded to any number of casualties, which brought to mind the most recent…

_Asuma…_

Before Tsunade could plunge into another silence, Shizune stepped forward, taking over. "The surviving monks want to reconstruct the Fire Temple but their treasury was ransacked by Kakuzu during the massacre."

_Kakuzu. Hidan. _

The names flickered in Neji's mind, followed by a mental flash of crossed-out mug shots attached to the classified booklet currently in circulation among the Jōnin. The same booklet Shikamaru had acquired months ago.

_"I got a little white booklet with all the fun facts to figure out."_

Neji's chest tightened at the memory of that voice. He took a very conscious breath, refocused his attention on what Shizune was saying. Ah yes, the treasury. "Nothing was recovered from the post-station?" he asked, transferring his gaze to the Hokage. She didn't answer.

Shizune sighed. "No. They've been relying on donations but given the feudal lord's tight-fistedness the project has barely accumulated enough money to afford reconstructing the dormitories, let alone the Main Hall." She tipped her head towards Neji. "Hence your assignment. 2 million ryō will go a long way."

_And then some._

Neji considered the scroll in his hand, his brows drawing together. "You mean to subsidize the project, Hokage-sama?"

Tsunade remained silent, lost in thought for another long moment until she caught the undercurrent of suspicion. In a heartbeat, her expression hardened, amber eyes flashing up like blades. "I mean to do what's _expedient_," she growled. "The Fire Temple trained warrior monks. When we lost those men we lost our _allies_. An entire infantry wiped out." She gnarled her fingers together, knuckles cracking. "Bolstering our forces is essential – and if that means subsidising the Fire Temple's project in order to secure our alliance then so be it."

Reflexively, Neji flicked a glance at the Buddhist statue – realised his mistake too late.

Tsunade's palm slammed down, jolting pen pots and rattling china. "This isn't a _charity_ case, Hyūga!" The exclamation thrust her out of her seat. Hands flattened to the desk, blonde strands quivering, a lioness set to lunge. "We're on the edge of war!" She slashed a hand towards the windows. "Our borders are compromised, our enemy intelligence is insufficient, our shinobi are dying and you think I've got time to be _philanthropic_?!"

No one spoke.

The force of Tsunade's anger blackened the silence, thrumming with the torrential imminence of a storm, thick and humid, emotions scudding across her eyes.

Neji lowered his gaze, said nothing.

Across the room, Shizune squirmed under the tension, hugging Tonton close. But fast as it had come, the fury subsided, whisked away on a breath as Tsunade tipped her head back and blew a heavy sigh towards the ceiling, sinking back down into her chair. Rubbing a temple, she held out her other hand and beckoned with a twitch of her fingers.

Neji came forward, handed her the scroll.

She didn't take it right away. "This is an opportunity I'm putting in your path, Neji, not an obstacle."

Inwardly shocked, he steeled his face to the likeness of a mask, felt the desperate need for ANBU's anonymity biting harder, burrowing deeper. "Yes, Hokage-sama," he said, expression closed.

Tsunade took the scroll, flattened it out across her desk and began cross-examining the details against another document. The hushed sound of early evening activity filled the silence, carrying in brief flurries from beyond the large open windows.

Seizing the pause as an opportunity, Neji focused on stilling his centre and expanding his awareness in incremental shifts, imagining a series of concentric circles spreading like ripples, a meditative practice Hiashi had taught him.

It was whilst doing this that he felt something hovering on his periphery just moments before Tonton leapt from Shizune's arms and trotted over to the window. No sooner had Neji glanced up than a figure appeared on the rooftop outside, fist pressed to the tiles and head bowed. He was deep in shadow.

Tsunade didn't even turn. "Raidō."

"Forgive my intrusion, Tsunade-sama. I must speak with Shizune."

Tsunade simply grunted, waving Shizune towards the window. Permission granted. The medic-nin complied. Raidō didn't say much, just slipped Shizune a folded note and dropped Genma's name beneath his breath. Then he was gone. Shizune examined the note, stiffened marginally.

Neji's eyes narrowed, but his attention swung back to the desk as Tsunade reached for a large rubber stamp that'd toppled onto its side. "I had intended for Kakashi to spearhead this mission. But that's not possible. Now I'm entrusting it to you, Neji." She paused to let the weight of her words sink in, grinding the stamp into a thick red ink pad. "Assembling chūnin will be left to your discretion; however, there is a requisite regarding certain individuals."

Eyes cast down, Neji waited for her to elaborate and cut a quick glance upwards when she didn't. What he found unnerved him more than Tsunade's earlier outburst. The Hokage's gaze was back on the statue, her face a juxtaposition of unfathomable emotion; mouth painted in a tight-lipped line, pale brows drawn in and etched sharply…but in the diffused light, her eyes were a wash of watery colour, the lines at their corners smudged and softer.

Neji hesitated, then hedged gently, "Who do you want me to exclude?"

Tsunade blinked, coming back to herself. "I don't want you to exclude them, Hyūga," she said quietly, tightening her fingers around the stamp, raising it up by degrees. "I insist that you assign them."

Neji tensed. "Them?"

With one firm thud, she sealed the mission and his fate. "Team 10."

* * *

"Here's one for the team. I think I've got it, Shikamaru."

"Yeah? Go for it."

"It's a pinwheel."

Silence.

Frowning hard, Shikamaru sat back and pinched his lips between thumb and knuckle, squinting at the large sketchpad propped against the couch. "A pinwheel…" he mused, shaking his head. "I don't see it."

Ino scowled at them both, swivelled on her knees and drew a large wobbly circle around the as-yet-to-be-identified-object that she'd crayoned to the right side of the page. Sitting back on her heels, she stabbed at the drawing with her finger, glaring back at them expectantly.

Shikamaru and Chōji exchanged glances.

"Not a pinwheel then?"

"You don't wanna know what I was thinking."

Ino rolled her eyes and began again, scribbling away in earnest.

Smiling, Shikamaru reached for his rainbow-striped coffee cup and took a slow slip, savouring the thick bitter-rich flavour and the warm heady buzz it left behind. Damn, but it'd been worth standing in the rain to wait for Ino. Halfway into the downpour and a quarter mile from Chōji's house she'd decided to ditch her diet, sending Shikamaru off to get food while she'd snuck around the back of Niji's, taking their only parasol with her.

_Troublesome._

Shikamaru shrugged the damp towel off from around his shoulders. At least it had been worth it. Closeted away in the peaceful quiet of the Akimichi drawing room, munching on hot pork soba and Yakiniku takeaway, Team 10 had based themselves around the low _kotatsu_, enjoying the warmth emanating from the electric heater attached to the underside of the table, sitting with their legs tucked under the large blanket draped over the frame.

With the rain ticking away outside, a quiet lethargy had settled over them. Emotionally spent, physically exhausted – as if the near-death experience of their last mission were only _just_ sinking in – they'd drawn comfort from the familiarity of their circle, banding together, closing ranks on the world for a little while. Warm, drowsy, content with good food and easy conversation…and then the trio had some somehow progressed onto Pictionary.

Shikamaru wasn't even sure how they'd made that leap. All he knew was the game had begun on the back of his hand, transferred onto a napkin and then onto a large sketchpad Chōji's mother used to brainstorm recipes. Shikamaru and Chōji had both played two turns while Ino worked up just enough appetite to pick her way through a dessert platter. When the sugar-high hit she'd begun to effortlessly guess their sketches and had finally mustered the enthusiasm to pick up a crayon; now she seemed to be making up for her earlier good guesses by failing miserably on the artistic front. The current image taking form was a few spiky lines short of being identical to her previous attempt.

Chōji cocked his head at the drawing, slurping a noodle. "Any ideas?"

"Yeah. It's a never-ending déjà vu."

"Oh shut up, Shikamaru!"

He ducked as Ino threw a crayon, relieved to hear a hint of laughter on her lips. Just three hours earlier she'd all but sobbed her soul out in his arms. The sound of her tears had torn at him, the same way they had that night at Hotaru, the luxury _ryokan_, where she'd decided to commemorate their joint seventeenth birthday by getting drunk off her ass. Back then Shikamaru had been more than torn, he'd been terrified. He'd felt like a cornered animal scenting fire. Instinct had warned him off getting too close. In the aftermath they'd at least had the drunken haze standing between them, with Ino barely remembering what she'd done, what she'd said.

_But not this time._

No. This time she'd had nothing to hide behind and nothing to hold onto. Shikamaru hadn't even stopped to consider what the hell he was doing before he'd stepped in, giving her somewhere to hide and something to hold, hearing her break and wanting so desperately to…

_Fix it._

Crazy, how he hadn't even thought to run, to detach, to hightail it the hell out of there before he got dragged into the emotional quagmire. Something else had come to the fore, pushing past self-preservation, pushing past his shields. The same thing he'd felt when he'd seen Chōji's misery back at the pavilion. The same thing he felt every time he thought of Asuma and fell into that bottomless ache. He had to dig real deep to find it, but it was there, buried deep in the grief. An untapped strength. An unshakeable urge to protect everything he still had left to lose; to preserve these precious people by any means necessary.

_If I can hold onto that, if _we_ can hold onto that…then we can pull through this._

He felt a nudge, glanced across.

"You're glazing over," Chōji whispered. "You'd better get this, genius."

Smiling, Shikamaru set his chin on his knuckles. "I'm on it."

He'd been on it for ten minutes. Ino's first five attempts to the left of the page had all been abandoned. Shikamaru kept stealing glances at the forlorn-looking doodles, trying to translate the significance of two dead slugs and a trail of hearts.

_This has gotta be a horror film._

"It's a tree!" Chōji burst out, thrusting his chopsticks with conviction.

Ino jerked around, nodded empathically and spun her wrists as if trying to reel more information from him. Shikamaru looked over, analysing the sketch through lidded eyes.

"It's a palm tree," he elaborated, hopping on Chōji's train of thought. "And I'm guessing that thing…" he waggled a finger to indicate the wobbly line Ino had zigzagged under the tree. "Is water."

"It's an island!" Chōji exploded. "A tropical island!"

Ino waggled her head from side-to-side in a 'kinda-sorta-maybe' gesture, then threw in another series of scribbles, paying extra attention to detail.

A few loose connections and a wild gesticulation later, Shikamaru looked at Chōji. "They grow Shogi pieces on tropical islands, huh?"

"All I'm seeing is the dead pig on the plate," Chōji grimaced, peering closer. "And the dude with the wacko hairstyle and the knives."

Ino gaped. "What! That's _clearly_ a bouquet in his hands, you idiot!"

Shikamaru frowned, squinting hard. "Huh. There goes my horror movie theory."

"Are you seeing at that pig? This is _clearly_ a horror movie."

Ino smacked a fist onto her thigh. "Dammit you two, this is so_ easy!_"

Chōji laughed. "Hey, quit cheating! The artist isn't allowed to use verbal or physical signals."

"Screw that. I give up," Shikamaru sighed, taking another sip of coffee. "So I get the island, the sun, the water and the malformed tree…although having the tree _in _the water is—"

"Shikamaru," Ino growled. "This isn't a still life painting."

The Nara shrugged, holding his palms up to ward off projectiles. "I can even accept that there's probably some really _loose_ connection between the Shogi board, the guy with the pointy flowers and the dead pig. There's just one thing…" He chopped his palm towards the other end of the sketchpad. "I don't get the slugs."

"What slugs?" Ino followed his gaze and let out a gasp. "Those aren't slugs, Shikamaru!"

"_Clearly_ not slugs, Shikamaru," Chōji ribbed around a mouthful of grilled beef.

"They're lips," Ino defended.

"Lips?" Shikamaru tilted his head the other way, his flagging interest immediately piqued by the possibility – or hope – of a _logical_ connection. "And the hearts are what? Kisses?"

"Well done, genius! And this _isn't_ a tropical island, you morons." She framed the picture between her palms, smiling sweetly. "It's _paradise_!"

Chōji shot her a horrified look. "With dead pigs?"

Shikamaru laughed, a raspy chuckle bubbling up as he draped a hand over his eyes, shaking his head. "_Icha Icha Paradise_."

"Yes!" Ino thrust both fists into the air, throwing her head back. "Finally!"

Chōji gripped his thighs to keep from toppling over. "Say _what_?" He looked sideways at Shikamaru. "How do you make the jump from dead pigs to paradise?"

The shadow-nin gave a half-shrug. "You like pork. I like Shogi. Ino likes…" he trailed off, not even attempting to put into words the portrait of her hero. "Whatever. The slugs are making out. Make Out Paradise." He shook his head, smirking at Ino. "So _that's_ your version of our hereafter, huh?"

"And my reward is a dead pig?" Chōji groused.

"Least you get fed."

"Yeah, you get to play Shogi for all eternity. Ha. Sucks to be you."

"That's assuming Shikamaru's lazy ass even makes it past the pearly gates," Ino teased. She abandoned her masterpiece and crawled over on hands and knees, rolling up the long orange sleeves of Chōji's borrowed jumper before tucking her legs under the blanket, shivering. "I can't believe that took you guys so long."

Shikamaru eyed her over his mug. "You know, you could've just drawn Kakashi-sensei."

Ino giggled. "Have you ever read any of those books?"

Chōji snorted, perusing the mixed-grill platter. "Shikamaru has."

The confession smacked the smirk off the shadow-nin's face. He shot Chōji a narrow look. "Shove me in the line of fire, why don't you?"

The Akimichi chuckled, clapping the shadow-nin on the back whilst Ino levelled him with a look that hinted at ballistic head injury if he didn't spill his guts and give her the goods.

"Shikamaru," she began.

"No."

"I hate when you guys do this!" she growled, her finger ticking back and forth between them like a metronome gone haywire. "You have all these dirty little secrets that you hint at but _never_ share."

Chōji actually had the decency to look ashamed. Shikamaru sighed, knowing his potential ally had just abandoned ship completely. Not that the shadow-nin felt he could sink any lower in Ino's opinions at this point. After Temari's ruthless attempt to turn him inside-out during his birthday, this was hardly painful.

Staring into the black ripples of his coffee, Shikamaru sighed. "I've flicked through them," he grumbled into the mug. "So technically I've never _read _them."

"Not the innocent parts anyway," Chōji chuckled.

Ino perked up, eyes bright. "And?"

Shikamaru made a face. "And now we move on." He slouched sideways, jerked his chin at Chōji. "Ask _him_ something."

Lacing her fingers together, Ino tilted her head against her arms and grinned sweetly at the Akimichi. "Truth or dare?"

Chōji paled, eyes rounding. He turned a pleading look on Shikamaru.

The shadow-nin winked. "Sucks to be you."

A loud squeal exploded from outside the house.

Shikamaru jolted, sent coffee sloshing over the rim of his mug in a hot scald. "Shit!"

Ino shot him a bewildered look as Chōji rocked to his feet and padded over to the window. "Wow, Shikamaru. You never used to be this skittish." She winced in sympathy, reached for his hand. "You okay? Give it here."

Shikamaru avoided the touch by pressing his mug into her fingers, shaking his hand out as if he could flick off the pain. "Dammit," he hissed, sucking the flesh between thumb and forefinger, scowling towards the window.

Chōji slid back the latticed _shōji_ and pushed aside the bamboo screen that kept the rain from pelting in. He fell back a step when a small pink head popped up, a pair of tubby trotters smacking onto the sill.

Shikamaru scowled at the pig. "You've gotta be shitting me."

Tonton tumbled headlong into the room, somersaulting onto all fours, dripping rainwater in a small puddle over the _tatami_. She stomped her hooves, head down and eyes pinned on Shikamaru, a miniature bull set to charge.

He knew that look.

He'd been summoned.

Sighing, Shikamaru stifled a groan against his hand and resisted the immediate urge to bite down. He'd probably draw less blood than the Hokage wanted, sending this troublesome swine to do her bidding. Judging by the non-compromising look the pig fixed him with, he was expected pronto.

"Damn…"

Ino turned her surprised look on him, setting the mug down. "Did you have a meeting with Tsunade-sama?"

"Apparently," he muttered, dragging himself up. He looked down at the pig, hip cocked and eyes hooded in a display that effortlessly combined reluctance and laziness into one jaded stare. "Just me?"

Tonton nodded, turned tail and jumped back out into the rain, slipping and sliding along the wet gravel. Chōji stared after her for a moment, dramatically pulled the screen back and gestured Shikamaru through with a sweep of his arm. "Your turn."

Shikamaru levelled him with a flat look and turned towards the door. Laughing, the Akimichi accompanied him out into the _genkan_, handing the shadow-nin a parasol. Shikamaru took it in his good hand and slipped into his sandals, dragging his feet with all the enthusiasm of a sailor due to be keelhauled.

_Shit._

God knows what kind of crappy plank Tsunade would have him walking now. With the Akatsuki circling below, blood still fresh in the water, anything was possible. The probabilities began bobbing across the surface of his brain. God, he was way too tired to try and predict them right now.

"You okay?" Chōji asked quietly.

Sighing, Shikamaru paused by the threshold, staring out into greying mist as the rain began to thin. "Could've done with a breather."

He felt Chōji's hand on his shoulder. Steady. Safe. "I know."

Shikamaru smiled a little, turned his head. "Keep an eye on her, yeah?"

Chōji squeezed his shoulder. "I got this."

Nodding, Shikamaru swung the parasol up and strolled out into the gloom, following Tonton at a distance. Expecting the pig to veer off towards the Hokage Tower, he was surprised when their path took an unexpected turn, heading down a broad thoroughfare where a string of vending stalls and restaurants abutted the street. Tea parlours dominated, their lanterns hanging in dim repose as _noren _curtains flapped heavy on the breeze, beckoning customers with every wave.

Tonton stopped outside a tea house emblazoned with a white crane and gazed up at Shikamaru expectantly.

The shadow-nin paused a step behind, quirked his brow at the pig. "What?"

Tonton did nothing, just stared as if attempting to communicate through beady eyes and twitching snout, failing royally on the telepathic front.

"I'm not psychic," Shikamaru growled, glancing at the tea house, irritable and aching and wanting nothing more than to shove his hand in an ice bucket, finish his damned coffee and relax in the company of those he'd been unceremoniously yanked away from.

_And for what? _

He couldn't envision the Hokage wanting to give him a pep-talk or mission brief over whisked _sencha_ and sweet meats. Did she want him to run an errand on the way? He shot Tonton an irritated look, eyes narrowed sharply. "I'm not playing delivery boy."

An unimpressed snort and Tonton tossed her head towards the entrance, plopping down with a grunt. Scowling, Shikamaru ducked under the _noren_ and folded up the parasol, shaking off the drizzle before slipping inside, muttering beneath his breath. He'd barely toed off his sandals before a young girl stepped over and ushered him down along one of the narrow aisles towards a private quarter at the back, leading him past several rooms partitioned by sheer walls and lattice frames.

Sliding back the _shōji_, the girl stepped aside, gestured him forward.

Somewhat uncomfortable with the formal ushering, Shikamaru inclined his head in bewildered thanks and moved into the room, freezing halfway into his second step. His eyes flashed wide, the breath folding back in his throat, catching hard.

White eyes gazed back at him from across the low table.

Neji lowered his cup, his deep voice rolling into the silence. "Hello, Shikamaru."

* * *

Silence. The kind that belonged to a stolen moment. A precious moment. Because Neji knew that this particular instance of shocking the shadow-nin into a speechless stupor would never repeat.

Shikamaru wouldn't allow it twice; he'd catalogue it and be prepared the next time.

"_Next time around, Nara?"_

"_Count on it."_

Neji settled his hands on his thighs, steeled himself in the same breath. It took a great deal of restraint to remain seated, to remain centred. Strange, how in the past, the rare experience of catching the shadow-nin off-guard had always yielded a deep and addictive sense of satisfaction. Neji might've indulged the urge, if he hadn't seen the panic skittering just beneath the surface of the shadow-nin's eyes.

The door slotted shut, breaking the spell.

Shikamaru blinked fast at the sound, half-turned and blinked some more, appearing disoriented. "You sent the pig…" he said, awkward, irrelevant.

_Thrown off your game._

The Hyūga's smile tightened to keep from stretching. He reached for his tea, pretended to sip it and took the opportunity to stroke his gaze over Shikamaru, reacquainting himself with every lean and wiry contour – feeling a tug behind his ribs that revealed the bitter futility of distance and time.

_Every time._

Shikamaru approached the table, his tension betrayed by the angle at which he closed distance, moving just left of centre, avoiding the laser beam of Neji's cool and unswerving stare. He sat down, body slightly askew and glanced out the corner of his eye. "Would you stop with that? I've been getting the once-overs left, right and centre."

"And is this close attention warranted?"

Surprisingly, Shikamaru held the eye contact. "Is that your version of asking me whether I'm in a deep end?"

Neji held that narrow gaze, felt the pulse point beneath his jaw throbbing. "Yes."

After a tense few seconds Shikamaru sighed softly through his nose, offering a wry smile. "Yeah. Thought as much."

It wasn't an answer…and it warned Neji off asking anything more. The Hyūga knew better than to push when Shikamaru had already met him halfway. He also knew better than to exchange bland pleasantries. "Team 10 has been assigned," he said.

The barest sharpening around Shikamaru's eyes before the shadow-nin slipped into the comfort of his jaded skin, canting to one side, elbow propped and fingers pressed to his temple. "So tell me what I need to know."

Neji reached into the folds of his robe, pulled out a folded document and slid it across the narrow table, freezing halfway when Shikamaru reached to take it. His eyes hit on sore scarlet skin and without stopping to think, Neji reacted. He caught the shadow-nin's wrist, felt the pulse leap wildly beneath his fingers.

Shikamaru shot him a look that screamed '_the hell?'_

Neji cleared his throat, frowning. "What happened to your hand?"

"Hot coffee. Boring story." Shikamaru tugged his wrist free, flipped the document open between two taut fingers and scanned the text, brows tugging low. "Kusagakure?"

"Potential S-Rank activity."

Shikamaru's eyes slashed up, razor-sharp. "Akatsuki?"

"No," Neji said, trying to decipher whether the line that cut between the shadow-nin's brows was from confusion or disappointment. He could feel the questions crawling up his throat, the tension sliding beneath his skin, a tingle in the fingertips, the urge to reach out. He withdrew his hand from his cup, set it in his lap, fingers curling hard.

Shikamaru's eyes were back on the paper, his brows scaling high. "2 million ryō, huh?"

"Incentive enough," Neji said. "If we're entering into a war, we need to be prepared for the cost."

"Yeah," Shikamaru murmured, his gaze slowing to a halt at the end of the page, along with his breath. "Too bad you can't put a price on life."

Neji watched him, the cool veneer peeling away from his face as Shikamaru's eyes began to tighten and his breathing came harder. "Shikamaru…"

"_Don't_," Shikamaru snarled, crushing the paper in his hand, squeezing his eyes shut. He sucked sharply on the air and raised his white-knuckled fist between them, letting out a slow, steadying breath. "Don't."

Neji drew back, spine straight, lips pressed, reaching out with eyes alone. _This, _this moment right here, was what he'd wanted to avoid at Asuma's funeral. The agony of not knowing what to say; the agony of not knowing what to do. The agony of being forced through custom and restraint to sit back and watch, wait…and wish to hell that life wasn't as it was and always would be, snatching people away, separating them whether by death's cruel hand or by the iron fist of enforced distance.

_Distance_…

He forced himself to keep that distance now, body rigid, expression set.

With eyes still shut, Shikamaru pressed his fist to his lips, elbow a stiff point digging into the table, bracing against the faintest of trembles. His shoulders drew up, his body stiffened – and then his nostrils flared, letting out the pent up breath in a single, controlled stream. His eyes slipped open almost immediately, opaque as obsidian, fixed on the centre of the table.

"Talk," he husked, quick, rough.

A pang struck behind Neji's ribs, but tightening the reins on his heart he did as requested. "I'll be directing this mission in Kakashi-senpai's stead. Our objective is to determine whether Kusagakure is involved in the underground trafficking of chakra-enhanced specimens."

"Specimens?" Shikamaru croaked, clearing his throat. "Human?"

Neji shook his head. "Unknown factor. Could be animal or human. We're also uncertain whether this illegal trafficking is only in effect within Kusagakure or whether it stretches beyond their borders. Given the S-Rank level, we can assume that it risks becoming an endemic operation. I'd appreciate your input on assembling a team."

Shikamaru's frown deepened, eyes drifting back and forth; processing, arranging the information, re-scanning it. He nodded, but said nothing.

Neji waited a beat, then went on. "Taking into account all the unknown factors, I want a mix of stationary and offensive units. This may turn out to be a search and secure, but I can't rule out a search and destroy." He stared at the crumpled sheet in Shikamaru's fist to keep from staring at the crumpled lines biting into the corners of the shadow-nin's eyes. "Our client is a member of the daimyō's court. We're due to meet with his people at the ruins of the old Kannabi Bridge. We leave next week."

Which meant Neji would need to move fast to secure his players, especially with all available chūnin being snapped up for missions by Nijū Shōtai jōnin in need of supplementary teams.

Time, as always, was of the essence.

And yet, watching Shikamaru, studying his sharp profile made all the more striking in the lantern light, patience flowed through Neji like a stream...washing away the embers of urgency…bringing with it all those costly lies he loved to believe…the cruel illusion of time slowing…standing still…

_Just a moment._

Stolen, as always – and what would the cost be, this time around? Neji steeled himself against answering, against considering. He kept his gaze steady on Shikamaru, took up his tea and pretended once more to drink, giving the shadow-nin a moment to compose his thoughts.

_What's going on in that mind of yours?_

The question, so mundane, was shouldered aside by a crowd of far more pressing concerns, concerns that would in all likelihood yield far more painful answers.

_Where are you, Nara? Are you running? Are you close? Are you at the edge? _

Neji bit down on the urge to speak, the muscles in his jaw flexing hard. He searched for a grounding point, a meditative state halfway between expanded awareness and solid detachment, watching Shikamaru through the steam.

It was difficult to tell whether the shadow-nin was absorbed in the moment or entirely absent from it. His brows had tugged into a sharp 'v' above his narrowed eyes and the breath rushed from his nose in a syncopated beat, skimming across chalk-white knuckles – _in-and-out, in-and-out_ – fist still pressed to his mouth.

It seemed a long and exhausting time before Shikamaru eventually raised his chin and spoke quietly into the silence. "Let me sleep on it."

Neji smiled slightly. "I'd expect nothing less from you, Nara."

Shikamaru looked up slowly, his gaze softening in the lantern light until the brandy motes floating deep in the shadows of his eyes appeared almost gold. His lips tilted in the smallest of smiles. "It's good to see you, Neji."

A pit opened up in Neji's chest, swallowing up the air. His chest expanded against the pressure. He let out a quiet breath, shaking his head. "Words are…" he trailed off, found himself empty of anything to say that wasn't, "Difficult," he admitted.

Shikamaru's eyebrow twitched, a weak imitation of its usual arch. "Yeah. But you're way more eloquent and I'm way too lazy to even try."

Neji laughed, felt the rumble dislodge some of the tension in his chest. "That, at least, hasn't changed." He sobered, settled their gazes again. "I'm sorry for what has."

A brief silence as Shikamaru bumped his fist against his lips, trying to hold onto his smile. "I'm sensing a massive leap and bound on the way, Hyūga," he drawled, but the pain in his eyes pushed through, crushing the weak attempt at humour. "And I'm way too wiped to drag us outta that deep end."

Neji leaned forward, caught himself just in time and folded an arm across the edge of the table, blocking himself from going any further. He disguised the slip by slanting his body and leaning onto his elbow, feigning ease he didn't feel. He drummed his fingers, a conclusive tap.

A quiet chuckle from across the table. "Damn. What a save. You just can't do casual, can you?"

Neji winced at the obviousness of the statement. "It eludes me."

"Yeah, it's painful to watch."

_So are you…_Neji thought, fighting hard not to break the eye contact. The urge to justify himself sprung up unbidden, flying from his lips. "I didn't sign us up for this, Shikamaru."

The shadow-nin gave him a mock-dubious look. "Yeah, didn't think you were _that _much of a sadist."

"Not so. I just prefer to make a more dramatic impact."

Shikamaru smiled, that sharp dimple cutting into his cheek. He lowered his eyes. "So what's the deal with you usurping Kakashi-sensei?"

"Usurping?" Neji grimaced, not liking the way Kiba's face came crashing into his mind, accompanied by the resounding howl of _Highness_. "I'm not certain what determined that decision."

"Your spotless track record?" Shikamaru joked, but his eyes retained that sharp, speculative edge that hinted at pieces and puzzles and possibilities. "Guess you're at the top of your game now."

_Hardly_.

He was on the bottom rung in a snakes and ladders climb, gambling with a fate less certain than death and far more depressing. Control, freedom and the potential loss of both. He'd dropped his control into the twitching fingers of a Tokujō sadist and had all but signed away his life to a military strategist hell-bent on making his fight for freedom as gruelling as possible. A great shame he wasn't a masochist; at least then he'd have been able to laugh.

_My gods, how's that for ironic? Giving up the control I almost died for, in order to have a second chance at life…_

And what a life he'd chosen.

_At least I got to choose._

And that was the point, wasn't it? Seizing the chance his father had given up. And for what purpose had Hizashi given it up? What meaning? What sense of self? To die for one's comrade, yes. But to leap from life's cage into death's prison without ever having tasted freedom, without ever having given _worth_ to the life thrown away? What was that? Nothing more meaningful than a noble sacrifice made by a noble slave.

_I refuse to die that way._

"You're looking all kinds of deep, Hyūga."

Neji blinked. "What?"

Shikamaru cocked his head, lowered his fist from his mouth and draped his arm along the table between them. "You look like you're about to take a flying leap. Didn't you hear me back there?"

Staring at Shikamaru's arm, stretched parallel and so close to his own, Neji resisted the urge to mention the flying leap the shadow-nin had just taken, closing distance in the most innocent of ways.

_Innocent? Intentional?_

Always impossible to tell.

"You hearing me at _all_, Neji?"

Clearing his throat, Neji lifted his hand away, watched his shadow stroke across the Nara's skin in a phantom touch. "No," he said, crabbing his fingertips over his teacup, twisting it around in a slow orbit. "My rock solid ego stands directly between my ears and my brain."

Shikamaru sucked his teeth, containing what might've been a laugh. He conceded with a tip of his head. "Damn. That explains a lot. Tell me there's an upside."

"I have an adamantine skull."

And there it was. The soft laughter. Husky and low, followed by the blood-stirring sound of that honey-and-smoke drawl. "No shit. I think I'm still haemorrhaging from the last Hyūga Head-butt."

Neji tucked his chin back, more amused than affronted. "I never drew your blood," he defended.

Brows flying up, Shikamaru snorted. "You got selective memory too? You drew my blood _and _you gave me a concussion."

"Hardly a haemorrhage, Nara. It didn't even scar."

"Oh I'm scarred alright, mentally scarred for life."

Neji bowed forward, a subconscious attempt to smother his laughter. But the smile broke free, slicing the ice off his face, a foreign ache pulling across his cheekbones. He hadn't smiled this way since…

_The last time I was with you._

It was a sad and sobering thought. He leaned away, slicked a hand back through the dark strands framing his face and let them fall with a sigh, shaking his head. When it came to Shikamaru he was forever at a crossroads, miles from where he needed to be, both mentally and emotionally.

Shikamaru watched him for a moment. "I can pull out of this mission."

_Perceptive as ever…_

Neji smirked bitterly. How so much could be communicated yet remain forever unspoken never ceased to amaze or aggravate the Hyūga. But what irked him more than Shikamaru's sharp eyes was the suggestion that he couldn't control himself. He felt his cool mien frosting over, stealing some of the warmth from his expression.

"That's not an option," he said. "And even if it was, the fact remains that you and I had our duty and our separate lives long before we had this…" he searched for a word, spat it without thinking. "Distraction."

"Distraction," Shikamaru grunted, looking off to the side. "That's one hell of a weasel word."

Neji ground his jaw at the blasé response, felt old wounds opening up. He raised his chin in challenge. "Do you deny it?"

Shikamaru's eyes pinched at the velvety tone. "No," he said softly, locking their gazes once more. "I don't deny it."

"Precisely," Neji said. "But you'll learn to. And for the sake of the mission, I trust you'll do whatever's necessary."

"_Necessary_…?" Shikamaru all but mouthed the word, drawing his arm back across the table, his voice falling even quieter. "Thanks for the Academy cheat sheet, Hyūga. But I already passed that class."

"Then you know the rules," Neji went on, using every ounce of self-possession to keep from swallowing his next words, pushing them out in a flat drone. "This mission is more than a direct order from the Hokage; it's an opportunity to prove that personal feelings and past transgressions have no hold over who we are _now_ and what we have to do."

Whatever warmth remained, it cut out like a guttered flame in Shikamaru's eyes, the golden motes vanishing into shadow. "You never needed a direct order or a mission to prove that."

The verbal blow glanced off the shields around Neji's heart, prompting a devastating counter. "No. But _you_ always did."

A direct hit.

Shikamaru sat very still, not speaking, not breathing.

It was only then that Neji registered the impact of his words. But now, as ever, it was too late to take them back; too late to pretend they hadn't been directed to hurt, to shock, to give as much grief as he'd always got from Shikamaru's sharp tongue and quick-fire counters.

But there was no satisfaction, no evening the score, just the dull ache of—

_Distance_.

After a long stalemate, the shadow-nin's lips twisted in a bitter smile. It was his only response, other than to crumple the mission outline in his hand and sway to his feet, turning in the same motion. It was a forced movement, too relaxed to be genuine, and one that Neji recognised as Shikamaru struggling against the desperate urge to bolt, to run.

"_Don't let him run."_

He ruthlessly crushed the thought – after all, it didn't belong to him – and without rising to follow, he kept his voice very calm and very low. "Where do you think you're going?"

Shikamaru didn't bother to turn. "I don't need to hear this shit. And even if I did, I sure as hell don't need to hear it from you."

"Sit down, Nara."

The cold authoritative tone stopped Shikamaru short. Turning on his heel, he shot Neji an incredulous look coloured by the darkest hint of amusement. "Are you pulling rank on me?"

Neji gazed up calmly, not liking Shikamaru's advantage of height, but not willing to sacrifice his cool poise for the sake of posturing. "We're not done here."

"I am."

"I'm not."

"Too bad."

"Sit down."

"Get bent."

_Now_ Neji stood up; radiating utter control as he unfolded, rising to his full height, limbs coiled with power. They faced each other across the low table, Shikamaru still half-turned towards the door – a blatant insult or a strategic manoeuvre. One just never knew with the shadow-nin and that had always made him an irresistible opponent, a maddening challenge.

Neji tried again. "Sit down, Shikamaru."

Shikamaru cocked a brow. "You think standing up is gonna lend that statement any weight?"

"That depends on whether you're still standing the next time I repeat it."

Shikamaru's brows went up, a rough chuckle rattling in his throat as something undeterminable flickered behind his eyes, hot and wild, a lightning-flicker that Neji recalled from more intimate encounters.

It gave him pause – made him hesitate.

Shikamaru turned towards him very slowly, and as he did, Neji caught synchronised movement on the periphery of his vision; shadows moved in spectral mimicry to the Nara's slow turn, rippling along the walls in an incremental pulse.

_What the hell?_

It was then, in that barely-there moment, a moment lasting no longer than it took for the shadow-nin to turn, that the Hyūga realised there was something subtly different about the way that Shikamaru looked – no, _felt_. He couldn't pin it on anything physical. It was more the aura the other ninja was exuding. It went beyond the tightly corded muscles, the intensity of the eyes and the sharpness of the intelligence behind them; yes, it went deeper, much deeper.

Neji went abruptly still as he identified it, breath halting.

_His chakra is different._

Denser. Darker. Neji had felt this before, twice before; both times with Shikamaru pinned beneath him. The last time he'd witnessed its strange manifestation was back at the _ryokan_ when they'd fought. Really fought. Only then, he'd needed his Byakugan to detect it. Now he sensed it intuitively, a viscous energy, a palpable force.

_Find it._

The veins at his temples bulged like livewires; in an instant, the world bled into a glowing monochrome, vision tunnelling then ballooning out, microscopic details flaring in a network of concentrated chakra. But the pathways dimmed almost immediately into an indistinct mist, as if Shikamaru were employing the cloaking effect of a barrier jutsu.

_Kami…is he _masking_ his chakra?_

Another cold flood of memory.

_"I don't know how you learned to mask your chakra this way, but it won't keep me from finding you."_

And it hadn't. But now? He stared at Shikamaru, his penetrative focus wavering in confusion as the past superimposed onto the present.

_"I haven't lost my chakra."_

_"No, but you've lost control of it. I doubt you're even aware of what's happening with it right now."_

He wiped the memory away, refocusing on the present only to find the shadow-nin's pathways visible and clear, the _tenketsu _charged with chakra but untainted by anything more sinister than speed; nothing but an accelerated circulation. Nothing dark, nothing ominous.

Had he imagined it?

_No._

And yet he found no evidence to support his earlier intuition. He wasn't sure what unnerved him more, the lack of proof or the flaws in his perception. Appalled, Neji reassessed his own chakra, looking for blocks.

_What's wrong with me?_

As if his slip with Ino wasn't disconcerting enough – and now this? Had Ibiki rearranged something in his head? Or worse, planted something in there? Was he perceiving realities that didn't exist?

_Gods, I sound paranoid._

Felt it too…that control slipping away. He was used to his body occasionally failing him, but never his mind. God, he couldn't abide that. Felt sick and stunned at the thought of it. Deactivating his Byakugan, he found Shikamaru gazing steadily back at him, the earlier menace gone from those dark eyes, gone from his aura.

_If it was even there at all…_

All that remained was an exhaustive silence. And the desperate urge to get grounded.

_Get my head straight._

Not trusting his senses, Neji hesitated when he felt them screaming at him. Too late he realised that a strange sensation of weightlessness had taken hold, an odd pins-and-needles flux that sucked all the energy out of his limbs, pulling it down to the soles of his feet, congealing in a visible mass. Before he could resist the abrupt shut-down of his motor functions, or identify the mass of energy as his own shadow, he found himself immobilized.

_Shadow possession._

White eyes flashed wide. How the hell had the shadow-nin accomplished that?

_By slipping through the gap…_

The gap between paranoia and hesitation.

_You fool._

He'd all but dropped his guard, left himself wide open, arrogantly suspecting that Shikamaru wouldn't bother to take the hit. Past experience dictated laziness and avoidance. The only time Shikamaru might provoke a fight was out of the need to vent some serious steam. But as Neji glared across at the shadow-nin he detected no anger, no aggression.

_Then what?_

He felt his body moving, mirroring Shikamaru's steps across the room until the shadow-nin halted, bringing them to stand two steps apart. Eyeing each other without a word their chests heaved under the strain of that tug-of-war resistance, the air growing increasingly thicker, making it harder to breathe.

_Damn it._

Neji felt his muscles burning, fighting against the paralysis that immobilised everything but his face – the only part of himself he was trying desperately _not _to move. An expression would betray him more than his body.

_To hell with this._

He summoned his own chakra, tried to push it out through his _tenketsu _points, managing to break Shikamaru's hold enough to generate friction, to create a counterpoint. A blue-white glow hummed at the surface of his skin.

Sweat broke out across Shikamaru's brow.

Neji managed to twitch his fingers, felt a violent cramp seizing up his muscles, sending spasms across his hamstrings, thighs and lower back. "Let go," he uttered.

Panting, Shikamaru took another step forward so their chests almost touched. He set his mouth close to Neji's ear, forcing the Hyūga to mimic the action. The proximity of lips near skin raised the shorthairs at Neji's nape, chased familiar static along his nerve-endings, firing up electric signals and chemical heat.

"You hesitated," Shikamaru murmured, sultry, low. "You never hesitate."

Ignoring the warmth of Shikamaru's breath stirring his hair and chasing along his throat, Neji bared his teeth against the studded ear, beating back the urge to sink his teeth into the pale lobe. "I didn't hesitate," he uttered. "I held back."

"No. You hesitated."

Neji glared over the shadow-nin's shoulder, glad that the Nara couldn't see his eyes. He knew that the steel in his gaze was reflecting some begrudging respect. He'd often mocked Shikamaru for never taking his openings or getting his hits in when he had the chance.

_Never hesitate._

Shikamaru's lips brushed his temple, moving without sound.

Neji screwed his eyes shut. "What?" he growled, softer than intended.

He felt the shadow-nin's mouth curve against his skin, small but significant. "I said, I'm gonna take a walk."

Neji snorted – but again, it fell so terribly short of how he needed it to sound. His chakra faded, the tension bleeding out. "Liar," he charged, softer still.

Shikamaru didn't deny the claim, didn't do anything other than breathe softly against Neji's temple for few quiet heartbeats. And then he backed off, pulling Neji with him one step at a time, their shadows still connected.

Pale eyes settled warily on Shikamaru's face. "Be careful…" he warned, not sure who he was addressing, Shikamaru or himself.

"I'm always careful," Shikamaru returned, moving with a slow slide of his heels, a whisper across the _tatami_. He seemed to be waiting for Neji to resist.

_To fight._

But Neji didn't fight. Not with his body, anyway. He fought a deeper pull, in deeper places, that same wariness phasing in and out of his lunar eyes.

Shikamaru blinked, hypnotically slow, and flexed his fingers.

Neji's hand imitated the action, right down to the experimental twist of the wrist, like a prisoner testing shackles. At any other time the thought of chains would've sent him flying into a rage.

But not this time.

He felt a tentative tug on the shadow, like a child might pull on an adult's hand. He offered no resistance. And when Shikamaru turned to walk away, Neji moved exactly in his footsteps.

* * *

"_You're refusing this mission, senpai?"_

"_No. I'm requesting a transferral."_

"_You're totally refusing this mission. Damn, I need to make Jōnin. So why are you skiving?"_

"_That's between me and my therapist."_

"_Hilarious. Does your therapist happen to be Tsunade-sama? Because she'll break both our heads open if she finds out I'm messing around with mission outlines."_

"_I'm not asking for a favour, Kotetsu. I've already cleared this with the Hokage."_

"_Yeah, like you cleared your little treasure hunt in the archives earlier?"_

"_I found the dog, if that's what you mean."_

"_You_ know_ that's not what I mean. And I_ know_ that's not what you were doing."_

"_Ah, but you see, I know you_ think_ you know what I was doing. But you'd best be sure because what you think you know and what you choose to make it mean are two very different things."_

"_...Say that again. Really slowly."_

_"Kotetsu."_

_"__Tch. Shit. Whatever. Fine. I'll draw up the stupid paperwork and try not to slit my wrists with it."_

"_There's a good underling."_

"_Whatever. So, Kannabi Bridge, huh? You know it?"_

"..._Yes. I know it."_

He still knew it. He relived it every time he looked in the mirror. Even the mask couldn't save him there. And he saw it twice, through two very different eyes, one recording details on an almost microscopic level. He could relive that day, that tragedy, in such graphic detail it was like dissecting time within freeze frames. He could zoom in, zoom out, mute or amplify the sound…but he couldn't change it, couldn't rearrange the events or wipe them out. He could only rewind, watch, rewind, watch…over and over…

And normally, he could do it.

_Normally. _

But not tonight.

Tonight, Kakashi prowled the forests of the 44th Training Grounds like a wild dog on a short leash. Too restless to be hemmed in by the four walls of his apartment, he'd chosen a bigger cage, a metallic cage, its high perimeter fence punctured with forty-four gates. Forty-four exits. Forty-four chances to be…

_Anywhere else…_

And wasn't that the tragedy? He had nowhere else to be. Or at least, nowhere else to go where he could be like _this_.

_And what, exactly, is _this_?_

Regression. That's what this was. He knew this because he knew _better_ than this. Knew better than to allow it, to indulge it, to run with it. As he'd let Sasuke run with it…never chasing after the kid…just letting him slide.

_I'm not like you, Asuma. I never had that in me._

Yet being near the Sarutobi, he'd been inspired to try.

_It seems I'm always chasing after the ghosts of my comrades…trying to use their deaths…to make sense of my life…_

Oh it was insane, quite so. This reaction, this disintegration – as he understood it –hinted at an inability to process grief…to handle loss…to handle remorse…

_"God you're pathetic. Taking on Asuma's penance…because you can't stand to face your own…"_

The unseen chain twisted inside him, rattled and jangled. Kakashi picked up his pace, loped through the powdery starlight and the deep moon shadows, feeling the pack moving around him. Circling, circling…

One dog broke formation, skittered closer, fur as silver-grey as Kakashi's shock of unbound strands. His hitai-ate was gone, secured in a tourniquet to staunch the red stream trickling from his bicep, down along his forearm. Strange, how he barely felt the wound, yet flinched as if in pain when a rough pink tongue dragged across the back of his hand.

His mismatched gaze swung down.

He caught Shiba's quick inquisitive gaze, felt the dog's wet nose stroke comfort across his fingertips. A soft whine sounded from the centre of the ninken's brow. Kakashi stiffened, Sharingan aflame, _tomoe_ swirling. He snatched his hand back, the bridge of his nose crinkling in an animal snarl.

Shiba ducked low, scurried back to the pack, head down, tail tucked.

The hunt resumed.

Kakashi took lunges, made leaps that stretched muscle and split skin. Blood congealed, sticky and warm between his fingers and in the creases of his arms, along the slashes in his stomach. Gore-spattered and tainted, he left death on the breeze, a scent to follow.

He didn't need to wait long.

When the beast came charging from the undergrowth, a hybrid mass of stripes and claws and unleashed fury, there came the violent scream of a thousand birds, a riptide of lightning – _the strobe flicker of wide brown eyes, a beautiful face, bloody lips choking out his name_ – and then Kakashi's hand thrust straight through memory, straight through muscle, straight through bone and beating heart.

_CHIDORI!_

The beast roared, a strangled yowl blasting into the night. Kakashi slammed his knees into the convulsing body, riding it down to the cold hard ground until his fist struck earth, arm buried in a broken ribcage, fingers gripping a still-beating heart.

"_K-Kakashi…"_

Bile rode up his throat, thick as blood…so much blood…

Kakashi doubled over, gripped tainted grass between tainted fingers, eyes unfocused, muscles locked, throat on fire…burning, burning, burning…

A rough pink tongue dragged across his cheek.

Agony.

Snarling, Kakashi whirled on the dog, _tantō_ drawn and slashing out, spinning a wild animal circle, lashing out with such uncontrolled violence that his ninken went scuttling back into the shadows, cowering low, watching from the darkness, their eyes soft with patience, with sympathy, with…

_Oh god…_

The _tantō_ dropped from his bloody hand, hit the ground with a wet squelch.

"_Now there's the man that I remember."_

He stared at the smoking corpse…staggered back a pace…collapsed onto his knees, threw back his head...and howled.

* * *

She may have woken up screaming. Wasn't sure whether she'd even fallen asleep. Time had taken on an odd dimension within these four walls. But even these four walls could only do so much to distort sound. She didn't want company. Knew it came and went outside her door…the pad of paws…the scuff of feet…

_Quietly…quietly…_

No, she hadn't screamed. But it hurt to swallow. Smoke clogged her throat, twisted like a thick grey snake, constricting her airway, filling up her lungs. The scent of lit joss sticks clotted the air with a haze so thick it was barely breathable.

_"Not smoking, don't worry."_

_"When you quit, it's always a cause for worry."_

Kurenai felt a fresh burning in her eyes. Whether from salt or smoke it was hard to tell. The tears had frozen there, refusing to fall.

_Maybe I'll fall…_

If she fell asleep, what were the chances that she may not wake?

She imagined it, morbidly. Saw the lily-white corpse vanishing in drifts of cloud, suffocated by the sorrow, under the guise of smoke. There was poetry in that, the kind that she'd always thought she'd want read at her funeral. No need for flowers. Just a sweet verse from a sweet voice…

_Oh sweet heaven…you never could sing…_

She stared into the moonlit vapour, watched the light slip through the blinds and disperse in spangled patterns, swirling into coils and ribbons, swathes and strings. The pain in her chest tightened, the cramps in her stomach ground like blunt knives.

A bad sign, she knew.

She should've taken whatever it was Shizune had left for her earlier…too late now…she couldn't seem to get herself upright. Wasn't sure she'd even have known which way the bathroom was. She'd vomited twice, over the side of the couch, into something that may have been a saucepan. She didn't remember what she'd grabbed. Didn't remember the last time she'd moved – ah yes, she'd closed the window, hadn't she? Lit the incense. All twenty sticks of it. As if she could smoke out his ghost.

_Asuma…_

Another spasm, fierce and unforgiving. She couldn't even dreg up the desire to escape the pain, to curl in on herself, to attempt something protective, instinctive, maternal.

_I can't…I can't…I can't…_

Did she even _want _to? Guilt slashed through her and shame poured thicker than blood, filling up her eyes. But she couldn't cry. She was dry as the smoke, shrivelled up inside. So she remained unmoved, a crumpled mess of stained silk and raven strands, one arm hanging loosely off the couch.

And that's how the ghost found her.

"Asuma…"

The spectre standing in the shadows appeared to have human form. Kurenai watched it come forward through a blanket of smoke, her vision too glazed to make sense of shape or dimension, her body too numb to register the sudden draught. Her skin prickled and she heard herself wheezing softly against the smog of incense, struggling to breathe until air – fresh, cool and tasting of rain – hit the back of her throat.

The window was open.

_I shut it…I know I shut it…_

She knew she'd shut it because it had crushed her to do it. She'd crawled the short distance back to the couch…and crumpled…dust and ashes…

But the window was open.

In an instant, the world of ghosts and death she'd created here began to dissolve, like a genjutsu being dispelled. She saw a pinprick of light, lost in the smoke, flickering in and out like a fading soul.

"Asuma…" she whispered desperately; knew she was delirious, deluded, drunk on hope that had already died. "Asuma…"

The light came again, a thin flash in the dark. The ghost, having remained so still and so silent, obscured completely in shadow and smoke, stepped into the light. With the lithe movements of a cat, it sank down to a crouch, the moonlight stroking across its face, a chalk sketch against the blackboard of her mind.

She squinted, bleary eyes struggling to focus as details began to sharpen; long strands of dark sienna framed a sharp masculine jawline, beardless and smooth, taut as the skin stretched across the high cheekbones, lean cheeks hollowing down into a firm mouth, where smooth pale lips were pinched around a slim steel needle.

Reality struck Kurenai like a slap.

Her gaze flashed up, locked on a pair of dark-bronze eyes, upswept at the corners, reflecting nothing but the ominous glint of steel, the spark of lost life.

_No…_

Kurenai's hope finally guttered out. "No," the word died on her lips, a puff of air.

Genma's eyes lowered, drifted back up. He reached for her.

She stiffened. "No."

His fingers gripped the ratty blanket, stripped it off her in a single yank. The cold air struck her skin like needles, tiny little senbons. She didn't want to feel it.

"No, no, no," she gasped out miserably, twisted away from his hands, hot, red shame mottling her throat, flaring deep in her eyes. "NO!"

Genma grabbed her flailing wrists, hauled her up by them, rough and no-nonsense. Like rope burn, his grip stung, sawed, tightened like a noose as she attempted to twist her wrists free. Why couldn't she?

_You abandon me…_

Completely. All of it. All her training, all her strength, all her will to fight…all but gone. Her taijutsu, ninjutsu, genjutsu…nothing but memories, memories that neither her muscles nor her mind could recall.

Her legs folded, knees sinking into the cushions.

Genma yanked her back up, spat the senbon aside. "Get up, Kurenai."

Trembling now, raven strands shivering, her voice a hoarse, strangled hiss. "Get _out_…"

"Get up."

A sluggish, drunken effort as Kurenai tugged at her wrists, rocked back-and-forth on her knees in an increasingly pitiful attempt to break a hold that only tightened, tightened. She kept on until only her head rocked, nodding lower, lower, spine bowing, squeezing her eyes shut to keep from witnessing this cruel humiliation.

The nausea climbed, acid in her throat.

Genma jerked on her wrists. "Get up,"

She bowed until her head touched her thighs, wrists held aloft and painfully high, arms trembling from the strain, her body shaking so hard that the sweat flew like sparks. "Get out….get _out_…g—" she coughed, a great heaving sound, lungs emptying in lieu of her stomach. There was nothing to vomit, nothing to expel…nothing but the grief…

He released her so abruptly she almost fell.

Catching herself at the edge of the couch, she slammed her fists against her thighs and tried to curl into a ball, tried to fold away completely.

Genma's fingers speared through her hair, violent as knives, tearing her head up.

She gasped like a diver ripped from the seabed, mouth falling open, hands flying up. She grabbed his hips, buried her face against the hard, unyielding planes of his stomach and screamed…

Genma's fingers dragged across her scalp, fisted in her hair. "Get up."

She was so close to falling…clinging on by the tips of her fingers. Crying out, Kurenai dug her nails against Genma's skin and tore them up his flanks, drawing up fabric and drawing out blood, scratching higher, higher…like an animal scrambling for solid ground…

"Get up!"

Screaming, she hooked her claws and raked a fresh bloody trail along his forearms, tearing right across his hands until their fingers tangled together, buried in her hair. She ground their knuckles, mouth stretched wide, rocking back and forth as if she'd shake herself apart.

_Asuma…Asuma…_

"Kurenai."

_Oh you bastard…what have you done to me…? _

Genma dragged their hands towards the back of her skull, sweaty strands snagging in bleeding fingers.

_Don't you know…don't you know how I need you? How I need you to…_

"_Stay_…" she keened the word between her teeth, gasping, gasping…

She tried to hold on, ragged nails drawing more blood from the hands that slipped free, slid down her back; rough and fast. Not like Asuma. Never like Asuma. She felt herself hefted up and her arms came around broad shoulders; solid, strong…

But not like Asuma's.

She sobbed against Genma's neck, twisted her fingers in his hair. He gripped the backs of her thighs, drew her legs around him in one solid tug. He didn't need to hold her; she clung to him, not as a woman might…but as a girl might…as a child might…

_A child…our child…_

The thought shattered what remained of her heart. She screamed again and the world came apart…but unlike her heart, it came undone in ribbons...soft as smoke…smelling like embers…almost, but not quite, like Asuma.

_Asuma…_

All the fight died in that instant. She sagged against Genma, hugged him to her like a lifeline which, in this darkest hour, he undoubtedly was. He hooked an arm around her, but it wasn't a hug. It was an anchor.

They may have been moving, she wasn't sure…over rocks, over water…the world was a wash – no, a _wreckage_ – of emotion.

She heard the fizzle of incense being smothered…

"No…" she moaned. "No…"

"Enough."

More movement, fluid enough that she barely felt it…gods, what she wouldn't give to stop _feeling_, just for a moment. She choked out a sob against Genma's neck, tightened her thighs around him, hands fastened at his nape.

Such an intimate embrace…such an empty feeling…

Unperturbed, Genma carried her out of the smoke-filled purgatory, flipped on the lights in the bedroom and took her straight into the bathroom. He eased her down onto the edge of the tub, hands skimming up her arms and down her legs, prying her off him one shaking limb at a time.

"Sit up, Yūhi."

Dazed, Kurenai struggled with the clipped use of her last name. Yūhi Kurenai, Jōnin; name and rank. Something cold but concrete, something to hold onto. Something to reduce this humiliation down to an event solvable between trained shinobi and time-honoured comrades. Like she'd failed a mission, like she needed patching up…like the breathless pain lodged in her chest was from a spatter of kunai and not the shattered pieces of her broken heart…

_Asuma…_

"Yūhi."

Nausea and shame swam together, a potent mix that had Kurenai doubling over. Genma's hand cupped the back of her head, holding her brow firmly against his stomach as he bent over her, fiddling with something behind.

Water thundered into the tub, the scent of roses wafted up.

_"This is the last time I try to do something romantic."_

_"You're supposed to take the petals off the stems, you caveman."_

Anguish gripped her, wrangled a sob from low in her throat. She didn't even have the strength to cry, didn't think she had any more sorrow left to weep…would it ever stop?

_Oh sweet heaven…please stop…_

"Please…" she whispered. "_Please_…"

Genma knelt between her crumpled legs, avoided her eyes and peeled the robe off her shoulders. Stricken numb, Kurenai didn't fight his ministrations, remained utterly detached from them, her senses wrapped in gauze, trying so hard to staunch the flow of memories.

_I can't…_

She became aware of Genma tugging her against his chest, shielding her nakedness, granting her what little dignity he could as he worked her arms free from the long kimono sleeves. Sweat-soaked silk dropped at Kurenai's feet, shed like skin. She felt as raw and vulnerable as an open wound.

_Oh darling…what have you done to me…?_

Without breaking stride, Genma scooped her up and set her in the tub.

Warmth enveloped her, so sudden it scalded. She gasped, watched the steam rise through half-lowered lids. It could've been a dream, couldn't it? Reality swam around her in loose fragments, floated on the surface of her mind.

She heard Genma's activities as if from underwater, as if from faraway…

Sleep threatened…a dark cloud on the horizon…

_No…don't let me dream…_

Her hair was swept aside, a coarse wet cloth scrubbed across her back, dragging in meticulous circles over her skin. Water, warm and scented, sloshed over her hair. Genma must have been using his hands because the monkey mug was…

_Broken…_

Kurenai drew her legs up, cupped her hands over her face and let the tears slip silently through her fingers, but she didn't ask him to leave, didn't ask him to stop, but wouldn't ask him to—

_Stay._

Rummaging across the room, the pop of a cap, a quick sniff. Then Genma's hands were in her hair, fingers moving in rough, lathering circles. She lost track of the tears, of the touches, of time, of everything but the ghost in her home.

_"When I'm with you, I'm home."_

She slumped against the cold hard enamel…could've remained this way for hours, days…

It was only when the water cooled and went swirling down the plug hole that Kurenai stirred, feeling something large and soft draped around her. She attempted to stand, appalled at the weakness in her knees.

"Don't," Genma said. Not a request or a suggestion.

Responding to the order, she robotically knotted the towel over her breasts and closed her eyes so he wouldn't see the shame burning there. He lifted her from the tub and carried her into the bedroom, flicking off the lights with his elbow. A milky glow from the full moon filtered in, embossing the darkness with silver-blue lines.

Genma set her down on the bed – on Asuma's side.

Kurenai went rigid. "Not here…" she whispered. "Not here…"

Genma didn't understand, made a brusque '_sh'_ sound and went about yanking back the sheets, using brisk clinical movements that began to draw Kurenai's attention up from the mire of confused thoughts. Here was something to focus on, something real, something unexpected…and totally out of place.

She frowned, becoming aware of her surroundings and Genma's presence as if for the first time.

_What is he…? _

More importantly, _why_ was he.

With exhaustion anesthetising the pain, Kurenai's mind began to pull the threads of reality back together. What was Genma doing here? He was the _last_ person she'd ever have expected to turn up unannounced and uninvited in her home…let alone in her hour of grief.

She shook her head. "Why are you—?"

"Sh." He came around the bed, his back to the window, face cloaked in shadow. "Turn your head."

She did.

Without a word, he propped a knee against the mattress and gathered her hair in his hands, wringing it out onto the carpet.

The droplets caught the moonlight, fell like glass.

Looking back, Kurenai searched the darkness for his face and found hints of his features in the dim glow, dominated by a ruthlessly blank expression. Like a mask, everything fixed; the blunt stare, the grim set of his mouth, the hard line of his jaw.

"Genma."

He braced a hand on his thigh, nodded towards the pillows. "Lie back."

Kurenai stood up instead; still trembling, still in pieces, but strong enough to raise her chin and steady her voice. "Why are you doing this?"

Genma straightened, leaned back and looked her dead in the eye. Such strange, stilted movements, each action very distinct from the other. Not like the movements of the man she'd observed in the past; a man at ease in his environment and in his skin, casual in his manner, armed with the relaxed confidence of an elite ninja who had nothing to prove and nothing to hide.

A far cry from the man standing before her now.

She'd only ever seen members of ANBU move and behave in this wooden impersonal way. Yet everything Genma had just done had been highly personal – _deeply_ personal – more so than any gesture of concern or sympathy she'd received up until now, however genuine, however well-intentioned.

And what was the intention here? What had driven him to take such intrusive action? The Hokage would never have ordered it. Or if she had, she'd certainly never have sent a man. And certainly not _Genma_. It was absurd, felt almost illicit and far beyond the call of duty even if she'd needed it.

_Needed it…_

She knew she'd look back on this night and cringe, could already feel the embers of her pride, a burning indignation at her weakness…but right now, her pride was on the floor, with all the other pieces that had nothing to do with Genma. Yet here he was. Manhandling her like a broken doll, but holding her together all the same.

"Why have you done this?" she asked again.

Genma blinked, reached into his pocket and extracted a phial of pills. The same one Shizune had given her. She glanced back towards the bathroom – was that where she'd left it?

He stepped forward, pressed the phial into her palm. "You will start to take these." He turned the bottle around in her hand, tapped the label plastered to the side. "As prescribed. No more. No less."

She caught his wrist before he could withdraw it, stared at the gashes she'd clawed across his skin; four red rivers running from the valley of his knuckles right down along his forearm.

"Big cat," he said, deadpan as his expression.

She watched him closely, waited for a glimpse of something real, not even sure she'd recognise it if she saw it. "Genma…"

Genma pulled his hand back. "No one will ask."

"I'm asking."

"I've got nothing to say." He vanished into the bathroom, reappeared with a fresh robe and tossed it across the bed. He kept his back turned. "Get dressed. Shizune will stay with you." Again, not a suggestion. "Her shift finishes in an hour."

Slipping into the robe, Kurenai didn't bother to argue, she had no strength to stand her ground. Had no strength to stand, _period_. She'd have sunk down right there on the floor if Genma hadn't taken her by the arm – firm, uncompromising – and marched her like a child around to the other side of the bed; _her_ side…at least it used to be, when Asuma hadn't sprawled in the centre, taking up all the space.

_All the space…even in my heart…_

"You'll sleep here from now on," Genma said. "If you return to that couch I'll throw it out."

Surreal…absolutely surreal…maybe she _was_ dreaming. Only one thing was for sure; when she recovered her strength she'd be kicking Genma's ass up and down the village for being such an intrusive and domineering sonofabitch.

_And where would you be right now if he hadn't?_

Shaking her head, Kurenai slipped under the covers, aware of his gaze, wondering whether a more modest woman would have blushed. Oh Kami, what the hell did it matter? He'd seen everything he was ever going to see. Too heartsick to care about shame, she settled against the pillows and banded a protective arm around her stomach, remembering how Asuma had done it countless times.

_How I miss you…_

He'd stay beside her, tapping a nonsense tune with his fingers or rubbing circles across her belly with his palm.

_How I miss us…_

Repeating the action now, it struck her that she wasn't alone, that she had never _been_ alone, even in the darkest hours when the night closed in, cruel and cold and stripped of company. And finally, slowly, the maternal embers began to stir.

_Yes. How I miss you. But oh how I'll love this child…_

The outpouring of love came like a drug rush, a sweet morphine for the heartache, leaving her drowsy and right on the knife's edge of sleep…drifting in and out…struggling to watch Genma through her lashes.

Leaning against the wall, the Shiranui kicked one leg back against the plaster, took out a senbon and slipped it between his lips in a motion that was so achingly familiar.

_But not like Asuma._

The metal that caught the moonlight belonged to a needle, not a lighter and no ember burned at the tip, just the razor wink of steel.

_"Hn, Genma might be looking to shoot a few senbons at my ass."_

Kurenai's breath caught hard.

Genma's eyes flicked up.

Their gazes touched, generated the same static-shock occasionally experienced by the touch of fingertips. In that one exchange, that one look, she felt as if a veil had thinned, as if Asuma were there with them, a ghost in the room, a trail of smoke signals spiralling upwards, phantom writing on the wall.

In that same instant, Kurenai knew why Genma had come.

He watched her, unerringly still – playing possum.

But she _knew_.

Sympathy stroked across her face. She shook her head gently, mustered the strength to whisper. "Whatever it was, whatever happened between you…it didn't matter in the end."

Genma observed her from beneath his brows, the senbon ticking back and forth. He didn't reply, didn't react.

Kurenai tilted her head against the pillow, struggled to keep her eyes open, to see the reaction that would tell her he'd _heard_ her. Asuma would have wanted that. Contradictory creature that he was, faithless yet faithful, he'd have taken this godless hour of grief, examined Genma's place in it and chalked it all up to karma.

"Genma…?"

He'd moved…or was she moving? Floating away.

"It didn't matter…" she whispered again, lashes drifting shut, her body giving up on tonight, as if knowing somehow that tomorrow would be easier. "Do you…understand…?"

Understanding, comprehension…she'd never know what passed across his eyes, even if she'd stayed awake long enough to catch a glimpse; it was such a brief and fleeting thing, there and gone…

There and gone just like Genma…straight out the window and into the night as somewhere in the distance, far beyond walls and rooftops and perimeter fences, a pack of ninken began to howl.

* * *

**TBC.**

**A/N: **Blimey…let's take a break to breathe and eat some biscuits before we move on to the final chapter! Real life had me in a chokehold this past week so I may have missed a few typos (will return later in attempt to annihilate them). Sweet, kind, lovely **reviewers**, I salute you and I _thank you_ for your wonderful feedback for the last instalment. So thrilled to hear from you! My appreciation continues to grow, reaching epic proportions that cannot be contained in words. I hope the chapters express my heartfelt thanks better than these crappy A/Ns. Look forward to your thoughts and I thank you, always, for coming along for the ride. Onwards!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: NARUTO and its characters were created and are owned by Masashi Kishimoto. Original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement intended.

Title: REQUIEM

Pairings: ShikaNeji, Asuma/Kurenai, Shikaku/Yoshino, Kakashi/Genma

Rating: M / R (language etc.)

Genre: Angst/General

Summary: Death is a fate we all share, but grief can leave us divided. In the shadow of Asuma's death the shinobi of Konoha learn that grief, unlike death, isn't just a thief in the night – but a night in itself. (BtB series)

**Timeline**: Shippuden. Neji and Shikamaru aged 17-18 (post-Hidan and Kakuzu arc, pre-Invasion of Pain arc). Approx. 2 days after Hidan's burial.

* * *

**REQUIEM**

by Okami Rayne

**Chapter Seven**

Lonesome and mournful, the howls went up across the village in a requiem, sounding out across the rooftops, along the streets and deep in the shadows of the training compounds.

Shikamaru stopped walking. "What the hell?"

Neji paused a pace ahead, half-turned, gaze lifted skyward.

The symphony of cries rose and fell in shifting pitches, gaining volume and new voices as the echoes stretched further, a haunting ululation on the wind, turning heads and causing lights to flicker on behind closed doors and sleepy windows.

Shikamaru felt a chill go through him, tightening his skin.

He exchanged a glance with Neji, saw the same unease reflected in the Hyūga's eyes. He didn't have time to open his mouth before a bone-rattling bark exploded down one of the winding alleyways. The shadow-nin turned, saw a massive red-and-white blur hurtling towards them.

And then three things happened in sequence.

The first two actions occurred simultaneously and without thought; Shikamaru and Neji moved to defend each other. The third action, a heartbeat behind, played out in the form of Inuzuka Kiba vaulting headlong over 200 pounds of charging canine, coming between the dog and the startled ninja in a crouch.

"Akamaru, STOP!"

_Wait. AKAMARU?_

Shikamaru did a double take. The beast hurtling towards them was twice the size of Akamaru, sheer muscle in motion.

_Make that 400 pounds of charging canine. _

And said 400 pounds of charging canine also appeared to be phasing colour. The dog's thick coat rippled between red and white, a ninjutsu transformation in the making.

_Well shit. This can't be good._

Shikamaru braced himself to spring, sensed Neji sliding into a defensive stance beside him.

As it happened, Kiba moved faster than both of them.

With a tortured hiss, the dog-nin ducked low and drove forward, catching Akamaru around the neck in a move that would've clotheslined a running human. The Inuzuka threw all his weight behind the charge, shoulders locked, muscles bulging, his face scrunched in pain.

A sickening _'pop'_ sounded.

Akamaru yelped, all four legs carrying forward a pace as Kiba let out a strangled roar and torqued his hips, choke-slamming Akamaru into the ground.

They went down in a crash.

Shikamaru felt the impact rock right up his feet and along his legs. "Kiba!"

Kiba lurched onto his knees and grabbed his dislocated shoulder, eyes swinging up at the pain. "FUCK!"

Neji moved towards him.

Perceiving a threat, or maybe just a red haze, Akamaru bounded over Kiba's head, appearing to grow another 2ft mid-flight, fur rippling crimson from snout to tail, saliva swinging from yellowed fangs, a savage glint burning deep in the golden eyes.

The bottom dropped out of Shikamaru's stomach. "Neji!"

Neji made as if to jump back, stopped abruptly and switched tactic in an instant, diving forward feet-first, skidding under the aerial attack. Akamaru flew straight over him, the wind of the dog's passage ruffling the long mocha bangs.

Neji came up fast, swung his arm out. "Run, Nara!"

"No!" Kiba yelled. "Don't run!"

Bewildered, Shikamaru froze at the mixed instructions and watched 12ft of rabid beast come bounding straight towards him, the canine features no longer recognisable, grotesque and caricatured, muzzle curdled in red folds, teeth dangling like stalactites from the gaping maw; horrific, rabid…

_Familiar…_

Like a blow to the back of the head, memories dislodged sharper than skull fragments, their images slicing into his brain.

_Jaws locked in ugly grimaces, fangs bared, gums black, tongues lolling, bones warped and twisted at broken angles…_

_"We add brodifacoum. Wrings them dry. But this is _nothing_. You should see what we give to pets like you."_

_Hands gripping his head, fingers digging like probes into his temples._

"_Run. Run now. Run and don't look back."_

The memory cut out, a hot poker of agony through his brain.

Gasping, he grabbed his skull and staggered back.

Akamaru sprung.

"SHIKAMARU!"

Kiba rammed him out the way, a brutal slam that drove the dog-nin's shoulder back into place. Crying out, Kiba threw his head back for the second time. "SONOFABIT—!" his yell cut off in a _whoosh_ as Akamaru collided point-blank from behind, smashing him sideways into Shikamaru.

They slammed into the ground.

Shikamaru wheezed as over 500 pounds collapsed against his body, driving the air clean out of him. The pain spread like a shockwave, but it didn't stop the bright flashes behind his eyes.

_Violet eyes. Deeply ringed. Set in a narrow, rawboned face. Ash blond strands streaked with gore. Cheeks high, jaw hard. A scarred mouth moving, lips cracked and bloody, the voice hoarse and choked, rough as if from screaming. "Run. Run now. Run and don't look back."_

_Run...run...run..._

"Shikamaru!"

The shout of his name pulled him back.

_Neji…?_

Shikamaru gasped for air, rolled his head, glazed eyes scanning – lungs screaming.

_Can't…breathe…!_

A sudden shift of pressure as, roaring through the pain, Kiba dug his hands and knees either side of the shadow-nin and tried to alleviate the weight. Akamaru scrambled wildly at the dog-nin's back, the huge monstrous head thrust over Kiba's shoulder, jaws snapping towards Shikamaru's throat. Thick globs of saliva dripped, struck the shadow-nin's jaw, slid down his neck like…

_A tongue across his skin, flicking snake-like at the hollow of his throat...dark eyes...soulless eyes..._

Neji was shouting something. Shikamaru didn't hear it, was lost in golden eyes threaded with strings of red, lost in the dry snap of fangs, the stale pant of breath.

"_We're all of us animals, Shika."_

_Fingers like claws in his hair, nails digging in, yanking his head back…_

"_It's our nature…show me your nature…"_

"SHIKAMARU!" Neji's voice knifed through his skull, severed the memory. "_BREATHE!"_"

Time flooded back, washed over the past, drowned the visions, sent them swirling back down to the subconscious seabed. A hot wave of adrenalin surged up. It engulfed Shikamaru in a rush, pushing him upwards again as if through water, desperate for the surface, desperate for the exit, desperate for the…

_AIR!_

Shikamaru's jaw unlocked, mouth flying wide as he sucked a great heaving breath, found his chest expanding, a sufficient gap having opened up between him and Kiba.

_How_?

He tore his gaze away from Akamaru's crazed eyes and saw Neji's arm hooked around the dog's red neck in a chokehold. The Hyūga appeared to be hauling from behind, allowing for Kiba to push back and create room.

But Neji was losing the tug-of-war struggle. Akamaru lurched and the tendons in the Hyūga's forearm bugled, veins striping his skin. _"Kiba!"_ he hissed.

"Shut up!" Kiba growled, but the panic in his voice was unmistakeable. Sweat dripped off his forehead onto Shikamaru's brow. His arms juddered. "Dammit, _pull_ Hyūga!"

"If I pull any harder, Inuzuka, I'll break your dog's neck!"

Kiba screwed his eyes shut and hunched his shoulders, struggling to keep the snapping jaws at bay. "_Akamaru_!"

Nothing, no recognition in those feral eyes. Just madness.

_Think…think…_

Blinking hard, Shikamaru fought the dots in his vision and searched his brain for a strategy…found gaping blanks.

_W-what?_

He couldn't focus, couldn't _find_ his scattered thoughts let alone pull them together.

"Kiba," Neji called, his voice strained but calm. "You're holding back. You're stronger in beast form. Use it. Do it now."

"Fuck you, Highness," Kiba snarled.

Neji ignored him, went on calmly. "Shikamaru. Plant your hands and start pushing up."

Stupid simple. Shikamaru winced at the obviousness of the instruction. Frowning, he tried to find the leeway to twist and not get mauled. Avoiding the crack and clash of teeth, he planted his hands on Kiba's chest and shoved hard, supporting the Inuzuka with difficultly.

_Difficultly? What the hell? I'm stronger than this!_

Then why did he feel so weak? Sapped of energy, muscles trembling.

"_Now_, Shikamaru!" Neji barked.

The Nara hissed. He needed to stop, needed to think, needed to–

_BREATHE!_

Chest heaving, he turned his face aside, gasping hard. Crazy! It's like his lungs wouldn't hold the air. Granted, he had a substantial amount of weight bearing down on him, but Kiba had lifted enough of the pressure for Shikamaru to brace his hands and snatch breaths.

_Then why can't I…?!_

A cold sweat doused his skin, pins-and-needles exploding in his hands and legs. He felt his pulse jackhammering, head spinning, mind reeling.

_Oh fuck no…_

He recognised instantly the signs of encroaching panic and froze, eyes wide and staring.

Now was _not _the time for this shit.

Akamaru's fangs snapped shut a scant inch from his nose.

Kiba cried out, his arms threatening to buckle.

"_SHIKAMARU!_" Neji yelled.

Sharpening his gaze on Neji's arm, Shikamaru focused on sucking air through his nose, hissing it out through his teeth in a thin stream. In-out. In-out. Forced but focused. Slow. Easy. Stupid. Simple.

_Breathe. Breathe._

The panic began to recede, overridden by adrenalin. Strength came back an iota at a time, dripping through his veins, tightening his muscles. He readjusted his hands, braced himself and began to push up against Kiba, bench-pressing the excess weight. Slowly, inch-by-inch, the equilibrium began to shift.

Snarling, Akamaru reared in Neji's grip, claws scrambling for purchase, scratching chunks out of Kiba's jacket until his nails nicked skin and drew blood. The Inuzuka made no sound, jaw set, eyes narrowed with the effort of holding the dog back.

"Kiba," Neji urged. "Phase, damn you!"

"No," The Inuzuka growled, tears of frustration burning in his eyes. "It's my fault…"

Shikamaru winced. "Kiba...do it..."

"No."

Neji's voice thundered over the snarls and growls. "KIBA! If you don't put this animal down, then I will!"

That did it.

"_Shikyaku no Jutsu!_"

Shikamaru heard the scrape of Kiba's claws extending either side of his head, watched the transformation ripple across the dog-nin's face; eyes narrowing, pupils shrinking to glowing snake-slits, incisors lengthening and sharpening. His entire musculature shifted, bones creaking, skin tightening, body dipping into a predatory hunch, raw power coiled in every limb.

And then he unleashed it.

With a feral howl, Kiba threw his weight back, twisting as he turned. The speed and force with which he moved thrust Akamaru and Neji a good three feet into the air. The Hyūga broke away from the thrashing dog, came down on his feet, one leg outstretched to catch his balance.

Shikamaru rolled onto his side, coughing hard.

Akamaru recovered, saw him lying vulnerable and moved in fast.

Kiba was faster.

The Inuzuka caught Akamaru's jaws in the crook of his elbow, muzzled the dog with an iron clamp of biceps and forearm and wrapped his other arm around the thick red neck, wrestling his thrashing ninken back to the ground.

Shikamaru furled over, felt his gorge rising. He swallowed it down, focused on breathing. Then Neji's hands were on him, turning him over, Byakugan eyes scanning, searching for breaks or ruptures. Brushing off the touch, he fisted a hand in Neji's robe and tugged himself up into a sitting position.

"I'm fine…I'm fine…" he panted, eyes on Kiba.

The Inuzuka was growling more savagely than Akamaru. Locked together, they wheeled in a ferocious dance, crashing and clawing, each slash and snap animated by the most visceral of impulses, the kind that drove predators to go straight for the jugular. Straight for the kill.

Which is exactly what Akamaru did.

The dog's jaws closed around Kiba's throat.

Shikamaru blanched. "NO!" He tore forwards but Neji's arm lashed up and caught him around the chest, jerked him back and held fast.

"Wait, Nara."

"For _WHAT?_!" Shikamaru snarled. He twisted free, staggered two steps forward and froze.

Akamaru's jaw had locked, teeth fixed like a barbed collar around Kiba's throat – but the bite hadn't broken skin. Hadn't drawn any blood at all. Snarling, the dog brought Kiba to his knees, dragging him down with the threat of teeth, but no actual intention to follow through with the kill.

_Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit._

Shikamaru felt the adrenalin quivering in his muscles, teeth chattering.

Neji came to his side; still, calm and in total control. "Wait," he said again.

Shikamaru had other ideas. "Fuck that." He dropped to his knee, made two quick seals; rat, bird. "_Kage Nui no Jutsu!_"

Shadow tendrils exploded outwards, a nest of black snakes swarming Akamaru before the dog could register they were upon him.

A high-pitched yelp.

Kiba slipped free, wheeled on Shikamaru, the whites of his eyes a rheumy yellow. He bared his fangs in animalistic fury. "BACK OFF!"

Shikamaru hesitated, eyes flicking wildly between the two Inuzuka beasts - not sure which one posed more of a danger. Everything in him screamed to tighten his shadows, squeeze the life out of the biggest threat.

_No. Stop. Think. This is Akamaru…there'll be an explanation…calm down…think…_

He cursed and loosened his hold.

Kiba pounced before Akamaru could recover. They rolled in the dirt, over and over until patches of white began breaking through the rust-red fur. Akamaru appeared to shrink, muscles shivering and contracting, the huge bulk diminishing with every thrash and roll until finally, with a great heave and slam, Kiba finally managed to pin the dog beneath him. He locked a hand around Akamaru's throat, teeth bared, incisors flashing like thin blades, staring deep into the dog's eyes.

No retaliation. Just a deep vibratory growl juddering through the dog's body.

The sound rumbled along Shikamaru's nerve-endings, rattling up that skittish urge to bolt. Chalk-faced, he felt the earlier adrenalin fast-cooling in his veins, threatening to leave him with a bad case of the shakes. But what disturbed him more than the fear taking hold was _where_ that fear was coming from.

He shuddered hard.

_God my head hurts…_

Knees digging into the ground, he braced a hand on his thigh, sweating hard and breathing fast.

Cool fingers settled at his nape, squeezed softly. "It's over," Neji murmured. "Calm down."

The panic went out of Shikamaru in a single rough breath, but the fear and tension remained, closing like a vice around his skull. He resisted the urge to reach back and guide Neji's fingers to his head.

"Yeah," he husked.

The Hyūga stepped closer, his presence a solid wall at Shikamaru's back. It took an even greater resistance not to lean into that support. Sighing, the shadow-nin refocused his efforts to breathe and redirected his attention back to the display of animal dominance playing out across the short distance.

The struggle seemed to stretch into several long minutes before Kiba's low throaty growls quietened into a soft rumble. "Akamaru…at a boy…c'mon…take it easy…easy…" He smoothed his hand along the dog's quivering flanks and each stroke appeared to brush the red out of the thick fur, returning the coat to fleecy white. "You're okay…you're okay…"

Almost immediately the golden eyes cleared and Akamaru's growls crumbled into a litany of distressed whines and shrill whimpers. The big head came up, a long pink tongue lapping at Kiba's face and neck.

"We're good, buddy," Kiba mumbled against Akamaru's furrowed brow, scratching at the thick white scruff. "We're all good."

"All _good_?" Shikamaru choked out, pushing to his feet, hands jammed at his waist to stop the trembling in his fingers. "What the _hell_ just happened, Kiba?"

Neji came between them, positioned so as not to put his back to either party. "Give them a moment, Shikamaru."

A moment. Sure. That would've worked if his brain wasn't wound up like a toy about ready to flip the fuck out.

_Idiot. Get a grip._

Shikamaru let out a long breath through his nose, lips pressed together. He closed his eyes, began to flip through a mental catalogue of stupid simple techniques to get his brain on side. If he could fix that, his body would automatically follow suit. It was pathetic to think he'd survived two Akatsuki killers, taking on one single-handedly, only to become completely unglued over…

_Over what?_

Akamaru or the resurrected monsters in his head?

_Focus on Akamaru. Understand the situation. When you understand the situation, you'll calm down._

Because following the logic, seeing the pattern, would help him seal the cracks and cement all the pieces back into their proper places.

_Good plan._

The Nara opened his eyes, felt stronger, steadier. He levelled his gaze on Neji, read the Hyūga's look and followed him over to where Kiba knelt, stroking his hands through Akamaru's fur. The dog-nin looked up as they approached, his features re-arranged back into their less feral form.

"Military ration pills," Kiba said before they could ask, shaking his head. "New batch fresh outta the labs. Stupid genin brats mixed up the delivery. This stuff wasn't meant for our ninken."

Shikamaru's brows went up. "Then what the hell was it meant for?"

Kiba jerked his head, signalled towards the west side of the village. "The Forty Fourth Training Grounds. Get the beasties all juiced up for the next Chūnin examination. Testing out the side-effects and all that."

"Testing them out on what?" Neji pressed.

"Kakashi-sensei, from what I heard." Kiba returned their bewildered stares with a grim smile. "Hey, beats me. Kotetsu said he transferred and wanted to take on the mission solo."

Shikamaru's eyes rounded. "Solo?" He exchanged a quick glance with Neji. "Do you think…?"

Neji considered, inclined his head. "That may explain the howling."

"Yeah," Kiba agreed, getting to his feet. He grasped his arm, rolled his shoulder. "After I heard that crazy beacon go up I figured I'd check it out." He tipped his head down at Akamaru. "Thought that we'd go prepared, so I gave Akamaru a chakra pill. Figured if we were gonna come up against beasts on steroids we'd need some kind of edge."

"Some kind of edge alright," Shikamaru muttered, shaking his head. "A good thing _you _didn't take any of that crap."

The dog-nin scowled. "I'm thinking I just might. Hell, I'm about ready to tear someone's head off."

"You're in no condition to go into a fight," Neji said quietly, his eyes on Kiba's shoulder before he slid a subtle glance at Akamaru. "And you'll need to quarantine Akamaru until a vet can ascertain the drug is out of his system and he's no longer at risk."

Kiba turned on him. "Are you shitting me? Did you hear what I jus—"

"I heard you perfectly, Inuzuka. And I suggest you save that energy for the mission I'll be assigning you to as soon as Akamaru is vetted and cleared for duty."

Kiba's eyes narrowed, but his head cocked with interest. "Mission?"

"We leave next week," Neji said, disclosing nothing more.

Bad move. Kiba's brows pulled together dubiously.

Shikamaru stepped in. "Plus, this pain-in-the-ass assignment may come with its own chakra-enhanced beasties," he added, his focus moving beyond Kiba to the cordoned-off training grounds. "So you can go all out when we get there."

The promise of a slack leash seemed to do the trick. Kiba chewed on the information for a moment and then relented, sagging to one side. He rolled his shoulder, winced. "What about Kakashi-sensei?"

"We'll check it out," Shikamaru said, earning himself a sideways look from Neji. Yeah, he'd probably just volunteered them for a night in the infirmary. Nice.

Kiba looked between them, his nose wrinkling. "You want me to send backup?"

"Nah, we've got this." Shikamaru didn't wait for an affirmative from Neji. He turned on his heel and headed on down the street, his brain leaping several paces ahead, rounding up all his scattered thoughts.

_Time to get my head together…_

He'd lost it back there. Lost it bad. Not even that silver-haired sadomasochistic immortal freak with a penchant for death and destruction had spooked him as bad as what had just happened with Akamaru. When he'd faced off against Hidan and Kakuzu, even after what they'd done to Asuma, he'd still managed to hold it together. He'd kept his head clear, followed through with what he'd needed to do despite the grief, despite the guilt.

_And you lose it over a dog attack? _

A rabid, unpredictable situation for sure, but nothing he couldn't have normally handled with a 'cool head and agile mind'. Truth to tell, it wasn't Akamaru's attack that had spooked him – it was the battle that'd taken place in his head. The misfire of memories had all but blown a hole in his brain, a scatter-shot of fear and panic that'd slammed its unforgiving flak straight into his skull, crippling his ability to think, to strategise...to _survive..._

_I need to fix this._

Hence his next move. If he couldn't keep his head in this next dilemma then he might as well pull out of the next mission and check in with a damned shrink.

_Dr Mushi._

He remembered checking out the name two years ago; back when he'd rewired his brain himself. The thought of putting his mind in someone _else's_ hands? It left him feeling sick enough to consider which alley he might need to pause and throw up in.

"Nara."

Shikamaru dredged up a smile, his eyes fixed ahead. "Ah, here comes the voice of reproach."

Neji snorted in that soft eloquent way that made a mockery of the disapproval behind it. "Would the voice of reason better appeal?"

"Reason works."

"Then do you care to explain yourself? I'm not certain whether to be impressed or alarmed by your sudden display of initiative."

"Initiative, huh?" Shikamaru glanced over. "I just signed our asses up for a mauling. I think alarm is in order."

"Indeed. This isn't like you."

Shikamaru stopped walking, felt Neji halt right beside him. "You know what's not like me? Needing my comrades to scream stupid simple instructions at me when we're in a bind." He gripped Neji's shoulder when the Hyūga made to speak, cutting him off with a quick, direct look. "That can't happen again, Neji. I need to know I've got this right in my head. You hear me?"

"This isn't the way to do it."

"This is the _best _way to do it."

"You're assuming that we'll be able to handle whatever lies beyond that fence."

Shikamaru sighed, feeling Neji's tension like a granite slab beneath his hand. He squeezed the tense muscle, his thumb arcing out, brushing over a sharp collarbone. "I'm taking a leaf from your book. It's called 'the leap and bound' manoeuvre. Looking _before_ you leap takes the fun out of it. Am I right?"

A flicker of amusement in those iridescent eyes, but the pale face retained its stony edge, chipped by the barest of frowns. "That doesn't sway my opinion on the matter."

Shikamaru smiled a little. "Neji, I got your back. You've got mine. Stupid simple. Worst case scenario? I run screaming for the hills and you vanish into the ether. Either way, we need to move fast. So decide."

Neji gave him a long considering look. After what seemed a tense, dangerously electric moment, the Hyūga made no answer but to signal with a tilt of his head, leading them down a shortcut. They took a diagonal path through the main thoroughfares, past looming apartments, shops and vending stalls until the buildings soon petered out into the outskirts of the training grounds.

Shikamaru's thoughts threatened to turn towards Konohamaru.

_Not now._

"_Not now! Not now! Always 'not now' but now it's too late, Ojisan!"_

"Shikamaru?" Neji paused a few paces head, turned back. "What's wrong?"

Shikamaru frowned, didn't realise he'd even stopped walking. He pretended to consider the destination that lay ahead. "Nothing yet," he quipped.

Neji didn't smile, just studied him in the moonlight, those opalescent eyes steady on his face, watching, waiting…wordlessly calling up thoughts and feelings that had no place in the here and now.

_Not now…and not then…_

Not that there was ever a right time for it. And not that there was a damn thing he could do to make it stop; not then and not now. Because, as he'd once told Neji, fate was a bitch that didn't pull her punches…and right now, pinned by Neji's stare, he felt a wicked fist of emotion slamming into his gut, stealing his air all over again.

Neji shook his head. "Talk to me, Shikamaru."

Shikamaru sighed, looked away. "Not now."

What the hell were they doing? Kakashi could be in serious shit and here they were exchanging tortured glances beneath the powdery glow of a big lunar spotlight.

_Crazy_.

He gave a self-derisive snort. "Must be the full moon."

"What?"

"Nothing. Let's go." He upped their pace as they advanced north through the woods and approached the high perimeter fence. Memories of the Chūnin exams came back in brief flashes, none of them pleasant.

_Great..._

It really didn't help to know that whatever lay beyond the fences now was probably a hell of a lot bigger in the badass department than whatever they'd faced three years ago.

"Hell," Shikamaru breathed, hands on hips, looking up from under his brows at the warning signs tacked to the fencing. "Remind me why I volunteered for this."

"I do believe you wanted to go for a walk, Nara," Neji drawled, his deep tones laced with amusement. "Although a walk in _these_ woods isn't quite what I thought you had in mind."

"Hyūga humour. Designed to make you sweat."

"Well, it certainly has that sting of irony you so enjoy."

"Yeah. Good thing this'll be a walk in the park for a high-flier like you."

"If that makes you sweat less, Nara."

Shikamaru smirked, looking over. "You remember what they call this place, right?"

Neji was already working the lock on the nearest gate. "I'm sure we'll find something to jog my memory."

On that cheery note, Shikamaru centred his mind on the task at hand. "Right, our objective is to find Kakashi-sensei, ascertain the level of threat and—"

"Not die."

"That too."

Objective firmly in place, they entered the Forest of Death.

* * *

The howling had stopped several blocks back, the last call tapering off into a cry as shrill as a night owl's shriek. Baffled and spooked, villagers wandered the streets, checking in with neighbours whilst children craned their necks out of open windows and mothers guarded the thresholds, silhouettes in the doorways.

Shinobi moved across the rooftops, fleet-footed and silent.

At the end of the street, on the second-storey rooftop of an old wooden townhouse selling paper lanterns and lattice frames, a lamp flickered on beyond the blinds. A sliver of light sliced through the open window.

"Shh!" a small voice cautioned. "You're gonna get in trouble!"

"I wanna see what's going on."

Small fingers hooked under the frame, inched it up. A small shaggy head popped through the gap. The boy peered out into the night, squinting at the figures drifting back and forth between the houses.

"What do you see?" the other child asked, younger, female.

"Nothing." Sticking out his lower lip, the boy made to wriggle further out onto the tiled roof, but a sharp glimmer out the corner of his eye stopped him cold. He looked across, gasped. "W-who..?"

There, crouched deep in the shadows of the overhanging balcony, a solitary figure turned its head. Though barely discernible, the fractional movement sent a bright streak of light sliding down along a thin needle, giving the illusion of a knife slicing through the darkness.

"Go back to bed," the shadow growled.

Wide-eyed and chalk-faced, the boy ducked back into the bedroom, smacked the window shut and cut the lights out with a shriek. Somewhere down below, a startled mother called. Footsteps pounded up the stairway from inside.

Genma sighed.

Abandoning his perch, he leapt to the adjacent building. Catching his balance, he wobbled a little, cursed beneath his breath and pushed into a run, keeping low and out of sight. He'd already completed a dizzying circuit of the Hokage Tower so he took a different route, finding another spot to wait, watch and waste away the rest of the shōchū bottle dangling from his fingertips.

The liquor burned its usual path, left nothing behind but a numbing cold.

_Useless..._

No warm buzz, just a head full of frost…his thoughts whisking about light as snowflakes, dark as night.

_"Whatever it was, whatever happened between you…it didn't matter in the end."_

The end. That's what mattered, wasn't it? The end. Not the means.

Genma clenched his jaw, senbon ticking up-and-down and side-to-side. Damn, just how badly had he sabotaged the intricate web of lies by getting Asuma tangled up in the mess? His reverse method had backfired. Badly. He'd tried warning the Sarutobi off with the proverbial stick, only to switch tactics and dangle a damned carrot, thinking that he'd be giving Asuma just enough truth to live without guilt, without chains, without…

_This fucking cold…_

"_It didn't matter…do you…understand?"_

Words, words, words.

_There are no words, but action._

And therein lay the irony. It wasn't words that'd betrayed him, it was action. Pinning that damned senbon to that map. What the hell had he been thinking? What the hell had he _done?_

_Shit_.

That stupid slip had snowballed. The question now was whether its downhill roll stopped at Kakashi. In fact, just how much did Kakashi really know? Would he drop the matter? Would he privately pursue it? Would he become one more friend that Genma would have to treat as a potential threat? One more comrade the Shiranui would be forced to keep under surveillance? Worse than that, would he need to involve the higher-ups in keeping the copy-nin quiet?

Genma scrubbed a hand over his face, breathed deep.

Scratch that. He'd deal with Kakashi himself. No need to bring anyone else into it. Besides, what troubled him more than whatever Kakashi knew was how much _Shikamaru_ knew. Had Asuma spoken with him before he'd died? And if so, what had that shaken up?

_Don't assume the worst just yet. The kid killed an Akatsuki…carried out an S-Rank operation on his own. He wouldn't have been able to do that if was unstable._

Or would he?

The questions swirled around Genma's brain like the shōchū in the bottle.

_Shit. I need to fix this massive fuck up._

And he'd need to fix it soon. Burning the duffle bag wasn't enough. He needed to cross-check _everything_. It would take time. Time that he'd have to fold in two and cut in half.

_One week. _

Seven days to fine-comb two years worth of secrets. Seven days to turn the archives inside out, clean up all the paper trails, bury all the unearthed clues, tie up all the loose ends and —

_Check in with the jail keepers._

Sneering, Genma shook his head.

_Utatane Koharu and Mitokado Homura._

The 'higher-ups' waiting in the wings, lurking like vultures in the Hokage's shadow. The two key players determined to keep him beneath the underneath, ensuring he'd never be free of ANBU, never be free of layers or lies. He could still see them sitting by the light of that red dawn two years ago, their faces hanging like washed-out paper lanterns, aglow with self-righteous fire.

"_What happened in Kusagakure is regrettable. But you have your orders. We have given Tsunade-sama the doctored report. This version is final. Incontestable. Do you understand?"_

"_I understand that you're ordering me to lie to my Hokage. I understand that I've been assigned to the gutter level of ANBU."_

"_Watch your tongue, Genma. You're lucky indeed that Hiruzen saved you from ROOT and picked you up out of your own self-destructive gutter, otherwise Danzō would be sealing that tongue of yours using far more extreme measures."_

"_Homura. That's enough. Genma, the Sandaime made you Goei Shōtai because he trusted you not only with his life, but with his secrets. And while you failed to save Hiruzen's life you _will_ protect his secrets. That is your mission. That is your oath as Goei Shōtai."_

"_I know my oath. I know that I swore to protect my Hokage."_

_"And Hiruzen-sama was your Hokage long before Tsunade. Do not think that your oath to him was terminated with his death or Tsunade's succession. You are duty-bound to keep his secrets about the Nara."_

_"About the incident with Nara Shikaku, yeah. That happened during his time and how he dealt with it was his business alone. But what about Shikamaru?__ As Goei Shōtai_,_ how can I continue to serve and protect my current Hokage if I withhold my knowledge of what happened to the kid? How can I keep that from the Godaime when it may pose a massive threat?"_

"_There is no threat, Shiranui, provided you stay silent."_

"_Homura is right. You also assume that we haven't taken preventative measures, should an incident such as what happened with Nara Shikaku ever repeat. __With the assistance of a select few, we aim to ensure this never happens."_

_"__A select few?"_

_"You are not the first we've asked to make such a sacrifice of conscience for this village in order to protect it, Genma."_

"_Who else knows about the Nara clan?__"_

"_That's not your concern. Although you did meet one of these individuals in Kusagakure. Did you know the operative?"_

"..._Yes, Homura-sama. I knew him." _

"_Then you know you are not the only one to carry this burden. But carry it you must. The Sandaime entrusted us_ _with this matter. And now you have been entrusted. That is your burden. But that is your duty. And a shinobi must do whatever is necessary to carry out his duty."_

Whatever is necessary, whatever is needed, nothing less and nothing more. And he'd made no bones about it, because that's what he'd brought to ANBU's table and that's what he'd left with: nothing.

_Nothing but the cold…_

Sucking a breath against the chill, Genma reached into the pouch strapped at his thigh, took out a tiny fuchsia pill, popped it between his lips and washed it down with another swig.

_Hit me fast tonight._

Waiting for the stimulant to hit his system, he remained folded in shadow and observed the slow guttering of lights across the streets; a systematic shut-down, a return to sleep, a return to safety, a —

_Burn!_ It flashed through his body; a hot pulse as blood pressure spiked and nerve-endings flared. Genma rolled his eyes skyward, pupils contracting, head tipped back. Warmth pumped through his veins, thick as honey, bright as glowing amber.

Arousal prowled through him, waking up dormant urges.

When was the last time he'd indulged them? _Really_ indulged them? Couldn't remember. Was left too damn cold in the aftermath to care.

_To connect..._

He drained the rest of the shōchū, left the bottle poised at the edge of the building, watching the moonlight refract off the glass in heightened beams. Everything was heightened. Everything but the cold; it vaporised in the warmth.

False light, false feeling…

He basked in its chemical lie…let the rays filter through him…

When at length the commotion around the village quietened down, he terminated his dreamy vigil and made a beeline home, keeping elevated until he reached a half-collapsed framework of bamboo scaffolding. Light as a cat, he sprung across, gripped one of the yellowed stanchions, swung clumsily around its axis and flung himself up and over the balcony of the dilapidated four-storey apartment building. Touching down in a stagger, he dusted off his palms, kicked off his shoes and entered his Spartan dwelling via the sliding glass doors.

Two steps into the shadowy _tatami _room he knew he wasn't alone.

Heightened senses buzzed.

He sniffed, eyes swinging, surroundings streaking like smeared paint.

Beyond the torn and distorted _fusama _panels, a staccato light flickered. The kitchenette lights were on. They were never on. He still hadn't fixed them. There came the sound of a cupboard shutting, amplified by the buzz in his head, the roar in his blood. A shadow played across the thin paper _shōji _that separated this space from the main living room.

Senbon poised, Genma slid the _shōji _across with more force than intended_._

The sharp hiss of the door cut the silence like the passage of a blade.

A figure paused in the doorway of the kitchenette, illuminated in neon bursts of cheap lighting. The scarred face tightened in a frown. "You still haven't fixed this light."

Genma arched a brow. "Hello, mother."

Raidō ignored the comment, went back into the kitchenette where the hum of the florescent tubes was soon joined by the dull roar of the extractor hood. Genma caught the smell of pumpkin soup, fragrant rice and cigarette smoke too stubborn to be sucked up by the fan. But it was Raidō's presence that filled the apartment, as palpable as any scent. Genma's nostrils flared, a predator catching the whiff of an interloper. He hissed in the back of his throat and crossed the living room in long uncoordinated strides, weaving slightly.

He became aware that things had been moved, swept aside, ordered and tidied. Taken care of.

_Care..._

Scowling, he unlatched the sliding doors that led onto the balcony and let a gust of cold night air whisk into the apartment, icy and sharp. He felt it like a heat wave and when his skin prickled is wasn't from the cold.

He turned, met the gaze boring a hole in his back.

Raidō leaned against the cooker with arms folded, brown eyes liquid and intense in the flickering light. A short-haired grey tabby cat wound itself around his ankles, begging for attention. "You got a cat?"

Genma squinted at the feline, dubbed Waif, and blinked to bring the mobile strip of circling grey into focus.

"I got mice," he said by way of explanation.

Waif stopped circling at the sound of his voice, trotted over with his crooked tail straight up and made a loud mewing complaint.

Genma grunted, stepped over the crying tabby, one hand out against the brown plaster walls. Bits of dry powder came away beneath his touch. Waif watched it drift, fascinated, tail twitching. Genma studied the plaster dust with the same animal curiosity. It stuck to the creases of his palm...like ashes in his hand.

Raidō sighed. "What the hell did you take?"

Genma stilled at the accusatory tone, his eyes swinging up, pupils like pin-pricks.

Raidō frowned, unfolded his arms and made to walk forward.

Genma spat. A sliver of light shot across the room.

A loud glassy _pop_ and the fluorescent bulb shattered behind Raidō, spraying the kitchenette in a rain of glittering shards. Waif hissed, turned tail and darted away into the _tatami _room.

Stiffening, Raidō reached up and grazed the back of his knuckle over his scarred cheek, felt the sting where the senbon had nicked him. He looked across at Genma, shook his head. "Are you fucking crazy?" he said it with such neutrality he could've been asking if Genma knew what time it was.

Not a bad guess. Time was money as far as Raidō was concerned. As for why he was wasting it here…

_Ah._

A slow smile snaked across Genma's lips. He took a leisurely, meandering route across the rough floorboards, bare feet at risk of nails and splinters and _kami_ knew what else. All the while Raidō watched his approach as a hawk might watch a snake, head cocked and eyes sharp, scrutinising every move in the moonlight.

Slow and deliberate, Genma planted one hand on the counter beside Raidō's hip, lifting his other hand to brace above his partner's head, boxing him in between his body and the cooker. Keeping his eyes on Raidō's face, he leaned in until their lips hovered a scant inch apart.

"Bringing me food and cleaning up my shit," Genma purred darkly. "What am I? Your fucking pet?"

Raidō said nothing, kept his arms folded like irons bars across his chest, eyes narrowed, jaw tight. Genma knew the look, had been on the receiving end of it more than once. But not lately. Lately he'd been distant enough to keep faces as indistinct as blurs. Up close like this, there was no escaping the many layers behind Raidō's look. Just like the scar tissue, bunched in coils and wheals, there was much written in the dark lines that dug between the Namiashi's brows. The expression practically screamed. Noise, too much noise.

Overhead the fan whirred, loud and abrasive.

Genma's brain pulsed with pressure; it pounded in his skull, pushed at the backs of his eyes.

He pressed them shut, saw colours blossom and spiral.

"You reek of booze," Raidō breathed against his mouth. "And you're high."

"Yeah…" Genma leaned in, set his lips against Raidō's ear and hissed. "I'm _flying._"

He smashed the extractor shut with such violence that Raidō's palms shot up reflexively and slammed him back.

Genma caught himself hanging halfway out the kitchenette, fingers clawed around the doorjamb, one leg off the ground, the other firmly planted. Chuckling darkly, he flicked his hair from his face. He looked up, caught Raidō's eyes fixed on his hands, staring at the raw gashes Kurenai had scratched from his knuckles right along his forearms.

Raidō didn't ask, just shook his head. "You had an appointment with Dr Mushi."

Frowning, Genma hauled himself upright, paused abruptly. Dr Mushi. The Mantis. Ah, that's right. He'd missed his fortnightly dissection. Had been too busy burning evidence and sweeping up breadcrumb trails.

"Genma, did you hear me?"

He looked up, found Raidō's dark raisin-coloured eyes trained on his face, saw them morphing and widening to more bug-like dimensions until the entirety of Raidō's features re-moulded like putty in Genma's mind, spreading outwards, taking on the flat heart-shaped features of a praying mantis, thin wisps of white hair pulled into a high and reedy ponytail, sticking up like antennae. He could see Dr Mushi's beady eyes magnified behind huge rimless lenses, fixed in an x-ray stare that perceived, probed, psychoanalysed and pissed Genma off like nothing else.

"_I wonder if you believe that you _need_ to suffer in silence, Genma."_

"_Who said I'm suffering?"_

"_Would you say you're suffering?__ Perhaps you could give me an example of what suffering means to you."_

"_Do these sessions count?"_

"_You feel uneasy being here?"_

"_I'm not feeling anything."_

"_Which is one of the reasons why you're here.__ How about you tell me what you _aren't_ feeling about these sessions that perhaps you'd like to feel?"_

"_Nothing." _

"_Nothing? Not even trust? You don't want to feel understood? Accepted? Relieved? You've got nothing you want to feel?"_

"_I've got nothing I want to say."_

"_And that, Genma, still says something."_

Too bad then, that the doctor still knew nothing. Still _understood_ nothing. Certainly not that _he _was the insect being dissected. Because every time Genma sat in that chair and stared across into those bright beetle eyes, not once did Dr Mushi suspect that _he_ was the one under observation, under the knife, under the watchful eye.

_Orders are orders._

And that's all it was. Because monitoring Nara Shikaku's psychiatrist and planting bugs in that confidential office hive – buzzing with secrets and humming with conspiracy – was just one more mission belonging to a past he couldn't let go of. Or at least, a past that wouldn't let go of him.

_Because we can't all cut and run._

"Genma," Raidō growled. "Why didn't you go?"

Hands lodged at the doorframe, Genma dangled forwards, hanging half-way into the kitchenette. "I don't need to be dissected by that insect."

"I don't think you get to determine that."

No. The only thing he got to determine was how to deal with the cold he couldn't kill; not with drink and not with drugs, or at least not permanently. And right now Raidō's presence was like a shard of ice cutting through the artificial glow and simulated warmth of his buzz.

_Chemical lies..._

He tried to hold onto the false feelings, tried to chase them, catch them, keep them, his glazed eyes travelling across the floor, travelling as he'd always wanted to travel…scaling over cracked tiles and chipped wood where lines flowed like rivers, holes gaped like wide open valleys, chips of smashed glass glittering, jagged lakes and tiny ponds.

He saw it all, a hawk hovering over the world.

Yeah, he was flying alright – flying too close to the ground.

And high above Raidō's eyes floated like dark clouds, his voice a cold wind. "You engineer your own misery, you know that?"

"Must do," Genma murmured, picturing the Council in the sanguine light. "I put my conscience in the hands of insects colder than I am."

"What're you talking about? There's only just the one."

"There's never just the one."

Raidō sighed, rubbed at his brow. "This paranoid idea that your own therapist is conspiring against you is precisely _why_ you're still stuck in that god damned chair every other week, Genma. If you'd just give Mushi _something _to work with, a half-truth, a full lie, _anything_, you won't have to keep going through with it."

_Yeah, I will…_

Which left him lying to Raidō instead, as he'd lied to Asuma, to Kakashi…to anyone he needed to – as was _necessary_ – pulling out the half-truths and the red herrings, leading all the right people down all the wrong paths.

"_Maybe I'm just a cruel, cruel bastard who likes to fuck with people."_

"_No, you're not_."

But it would've been so much _easier_ if he was. How hard could it be to pretend? To play the part.

Sighing, Genma bowed his head, dark strands curtaining his face. "Go home, Raidō."

"Or maybe you actually _enjoy_ the misery. Is that it?"

Genma tensed, shoulder-blades drawing up. Now the buzz was _definitely_ wearing off. He lifted his gaze and stared his partner dead in the eye. "Go home."

Raidō met his look, held it. But as always, the standoff didn't last long. Raidō didn't have the patience. The Namiashi made as if to say something then drew his tongue across his lips, shaking his head. He stepped away from the counter, avoided the glitter of tiny shards across the floor and paused in front of Genma, his brows lifted expectantly.

"Well?"

It took Genma a moment to realise he was blocking the exit. Dropping his arms, he turned sideways and placed his back against the frame, gesturing with a sweep of his arm. He caught Raidō's disappointment out the corner of his eye, a faint shake of the head.

"We've been friends a long time, Genma..." Raidō let the statement hang, its ambivalence as grave as the look in his eyes.

It was an invitation, an open palm, a gesture of faith, a bridge between friendship and estrangement. It would only take one look, one word, one action, for Genma to meet him halfway.

But any one of those steps would be one step too far.

Already, Genma felt the chains around his soul snapping taut.

Keeping his face turned away, he gazed at the containers stacked to one side of the counter; neatly arranged cartons, chipped ceramic and lacquered chopsticks all laid out. All taken care of.

He felt Raidō's gaze on his face, searching, hoping…

Genma swallowed hard, forced a dismissive snort. "Add it to my tab."

Insulted, Raidō's brow tightened, pain flashing briefly in his eyes. "Just eat it," he growled, sweeping past into the living room and down along the hallway.

Genma heard him shuffling in the _genkan _and then door to his apartment clicked shut, leaving silence and shadows…and the smell of pumpkin soup.

* * *

"_KAITEN!"_

The blue-white barrage spun outwards, blasting through reinforced bone and arachnid shell, breaking up the pack of scorpion-tiger hybrids. A miasma of blood, sweat and chakra swirled up, mushrooming out in a red haze, diffusing the light.

_Need some shadows._

Shikamaru took a fast-look around the corner of the boulder and ducked as a massive stinger flew over his head and clattered into the hard-packed ground. Venom dripped from the barb, struck the earth with an acid hiss.

_Nice._

He'd almost been stabbed through the gut with that thing. Konoha had certainly upped the stakes by introducing chakra-enhanced chimaera to the Chūnin exams. Mitarashi Anko had probably hand-reared the damned things. There'd been some weird snake-insect mixes thrown in there. But it was the lizard-bird crossbreeds hovering overhead that won the Time-to-Freak-the-Fuck-Out Award. Shikamaru had destroyed the nest just as the eggs had begun to hatch. Good move at the time, but now Mommy was waiting in the wings, ready to take his head off.

_Where are you?_

He didn't have time to stake her out.

An explosive yowl yanked him back into the game.

Leaping the boulder, he hopped over the mangled bodies of the tiger-scorpions; their massive concave slabs of protective armour lay cracked open like eggshells, oozing slime and entrails. Coils of steaming viscera lay strewn in bloated heaps, taking on an iridescent glow in the moonlight.

The stench was eye-watering.

Shikamaru focused on closing ground, bounding over upturned earth and bloody remains. He stamped his foot into the throat of a twitching beast and looked up in time to see Neji slam the heel of his hand beneath the chin of a charging wolf-ox-_thing_. This rhino-sized dog had _horns_. The force of chakra-enhanced blow whipped the neck back with a wet crack. A reverse spin and an axe-kick later, Neji's foot hammered another horned skull into the ground.

_Now._

Shikamaru brought his fingers together in a seal, began to pick out his targets.

And then 20ft of pissed-off Mommy came crashing down from the canopies.

Shikamaru whipped around, watched the grotesque dinosaur-looking thing drop out of the air as if dumped straight out of the pages of a horror book, its massive hind limbs breaking its fall, body coated with a birdlike down that thickened into leathery quills. It set its red eyes on Shikamaru and a crest of scales fanned up along its skull like a Mohawk, crocodile snout issuing an oddly bird-like squawk.

"Ah shit."

It charged, talons ripping up the earth like rotor blades.

Shikamaru fell back a step, mind scrolling fast. "Neji! I need some light!"

"_KAITEN!"_

Chakra lit the clearing in an ice-blue flash, casting out jagged silhouettes.

_Perfect._

Shikamaru dropped to his knee.

The monster's short forelegs stretched out, claws hooked, ready to slice and dice.

"_Kageyose no Jutsu!_"

Tendrils fired out from Shikamaru's shadow in a star-burst, shooting out to all sides. They laced through the shadows haloing the clearing, snarling them together in a rushed knit before drawing them into a black cobweb directly beneath the charging beast.

_Got you, dinobird._

Dinobird had other plans, namely to leap 10ft into the air and sail straight over the trap, squawking vicious triumph.

_Well shit._

Cursing, Shikamaru sprung off the balls of his feet, drove forward and crash-landed into the safety of his own shadow-net, feeling the tendrils wrap around him in protective strings. Dinobird was on him in an instant, slashing and hacking at the black mesh.

He was a sitting duck.

Through the gaps in the shadow-strings, he saw Neji circling on the periphery, beating back a pack of tiger-scorpions, Air Palm strikes slamming invisible walls into the mass of whirling stingers and lashing tails.

Six stinger-cats vs. one Hyūga.

The odds were stacking up against them one warped beastie at a time.

Crouched in his cocoon of shadows, Shikamaru felt the cohesiveness beginning to thin. It was taking more chakra than he'd counted on to keep the shadows solid. He could feel the construct unravelling and struggled to hold it together.

_Crap. Time to move._

Dinobird's teeth slashed down, cutting straight through a thinning shadow, jaws snapping shut a hairsbreadth from Shikamaru's face. Rancid breath fired out, saliva speckling his skin, a black tongue feathering wetly at his cheek.

_Now!_

Mirroring what he'd seen Kiba do earlier, he caught the crocodile snout between the crook of his elbow and clamped down hard, hearing the jaws crash and grind. He brought his other arm over the monster's neck, locked his fingers in a quick seal.

"_Kage Nui no Jutsu!_"

A sudden expulsion of chakra and the shadows thrust outwards like the spikes of a porcupine, aiming to spear through the leathery flesh. They glanced off the thick hide, not strong enough to penetrate.

_DAMN!_

Hissing, Shikamaru sacrificed his grip and launched off his foot, swinging up and around the winding neck to touch down on the other side, springing away when the beast spun about, long neck outstretched, ropes of saliva spraying from the rows of jagged teeth.

Shikamaru ducked and dashed sideways, caught sudden movement out the corner of his eye.

He felt the wind of an attack from his right.

A huge scorpion tail slashed towards his head.

Ceding all conscious thought, he flew into a diving roll and ducked under the venomous barb. He came up on the balls of his feet, directly behind a pile of stinking carcasses and broken carapaces. Dropping his shoulder against the armoured shells, he tried to catch his breath, brought his hands together again.

No time.

Dinobird came skidding around to the right, slipping and sliding on the gut-strewn ground.

The stinger-cat slunk round from the other side, belly low to the ground, fur-raised, head low, colossal tail arched high above its spine, dribbling venom.

He was boxed in from both sides.

_Think._

Fingers locked, his eyes sliced back and forth. The strategy formed in a heartbeat – the same heartbeat that both monsters charged straight for him. In the second it took for the stinger-cat to lunge, Shikamaru ripped the armoured shell off the dead carcass. He tucked his spine against its slimy concave shield, turned his back to the stampeding dinobird and hunched into a ball, curling right over until the dome of protective armour hovered just above the ground beneath him.

Darkness and the stench of death…

Then bone-jarring impact.

Dinobird crashed against his back. The blow knocked him airless. Fortunately, the armoured dome took the brunt of the force. Teeth grit, Shikamaru felt the aftershocks juddering along his spine.

_Don't topple. Don't roll._

Shoving his shoulders against the thick hull, he bowed lower as the beast piled its weight against the shell.

A crack from somewhere above…

The carapace wouldn't hold out long against all that weight – which meant he'd be squished like a bug the second it split or caved or tipped over. He heard the hiss of the stinger-cat somewhere further ahead and focused on the gap between his makeshift shield and the ground…saw the glow of chakra.

"_KAITEN!"_

_Now!_

His fingers flicked twice.

A black tendril lashed out, whipped across the ground, questing for the stinger-cat's shadow. Searching…searching…there! In the same instant he felt the tug and twinge of the shadow-possession, six gnarled claws hooked beneath his improvised defence and ripped it clean off in one violent heave.

Cursing, Shikamaru twisted onto his back, lashed out with his foot and cracked a kick into the side of dinobird's head. The beast staggered sideways with a startled squawk. Replanting his foot, Shikamaru spun onto his knees and almost went sliding. He tried to get purchase, blood and slime stealing friction and forcing him to channel chakra to his feet.

His shadow-possession wavered.

The stinger-cat broke free.

In a last ditch effort, Shikamaru gave up the fight to gain his feet and threw the excess chakra into switching his shadow-technique. Forfeiting the paralysis jutsu, he solidified the tendrils and wrapped a shadow-hand around the cat's scorpion tail.

_God, please work._

He heard dinobird rearing up behind him. Smelled the noxious stink of sweat and blood and fetid bowels. Saw stinger-cat go airborne, a silhouette against the night sky, paws outstretched, claws like knives, insect tail dripping death at the monstrous tip.

He thought he heard Neji calling his name.

Then all he heard was the clap of his palms coming together, gripping hard. The shadow-hand tightened around the scorpion tail . The cat hissed in outrage but had no time to realise what was happening.

_Game over._

With a guttural roar, Shikamaru spun on his knees and swung his clasped hands over his shoulder like he'd taken a swing at an imaginary ball. The jutsu mimicked his movement. In a lasso-spin, the shadow-hand jerked the scorpion-cat sideways and swung the beast around like a ball on a chain, slamming the hissing mass of claws, teeth and venom straight into dinobird.

The monsters crashed, turned on each other.

The cat's stinger lashed out, buried itself over and over again in dinobird's leathery neck. Blood fountained up, acid steaming from the wound, eating into flesh, paralysing muscle. But dinobird's death throes saw 8 inches of pissed-off claw hack clean across the cat's unprotected belly.

They died together, locked in animal hate.

Across the clearing, another beast hit the ground. It didn't get up.

Death filled Shikamaru's nostrils, clogged his throat. Sprawled on his back, he twisted onto his hands and knees, racked with a fit of coughs. He clasped his ribs, stiffened and froze when a shadow fell across him.

A strong floral scent drifted, cloyingly sweet.

Frowning, he squinted up through his lashes, blinked the sweat from his eyes. It took him a moment to make sense of the figure hovering above him. The cold grip on his heart fell away…replaced by…an odd tickle in his sternum…

For a long moment he simply stared, eyes wide and brows high. Then the tickle grew, began to bubble into something warmer. He gave a lopsided smile, began to laugh. "Oh _damn_, Hyūga."

Neji crouched down in front of him, panting hard. "Not a word, Nara."

Still chuckling, Shikamaru flicked slime off his hands and sank back on his heels. Palms braced on his thighs, he leaned in and tracked his gaze over Neji, shaking his head, trying hard to suppress his laughter.

"Did you fall in something?"

Neji glared at him. "No. Something fell on me."

"Fell on you, huh?" Shikamaru tilted his head and made a show of studying first the right side of Neji's body, stained a bright fuchsia pink and then the left, currently glowing neon-yellow beneath the glaring moonlight. "Was it a unicorn?"

Neji rolled his eyes at the raspy laughter that followed. "Idiot."

"Hey, if it's any consolation, you smell better than you look."

"Which is more than I can say for you," Neji countered, a hint of a smile in his eyes, Byakugan orbs scanning. "We're clear for now."

Shikamaru nodded, let out a long, slow breath. "You think Kakashi made it out okay?"

"The husks we found earlier were definitely from the Chidori. The ozone smell also supports that. I scanned the area for a good four miles. I think it's safe to assume he assessed the situation and got out fast."

"Smart. Knew I should'a run screaming for the hills."

Neji smiled slightly, sobered fast. "Are you hurt?"

"No. You?"

"Only my pride."

Shikamaru smirked and reached out to pat the back of his hand against a glowing pink cheek. "Yeah, you're blushing." This earned him a flat glare. Laughing, Shikamaru pushed to his feet and began to pick his way through the bloody wreckage, high-stepping scorpion tails. "Seriously though, what fell on you?"

Neji followed close behind, eyes still sweeping over their immediately periphery. "A flower."

Shikamaru stopped walking, glanced over his shoulder. "Are you serious?"

Neji didn't answer in words, his gaze swinging up.

Shikamaru followed his gaze and took a step back. "Whoa."

High above them, enormous jungle vines ran through the canopies. Hanging from these great green cables were huge pink pods. Upon closer inspection, Shikamaru realised that the bright shells were in fact petals folded into tight buds. One, however, had blossomed. Its long orange stamen dribbled a bright yellow wax whilst the petals sweated their colour in a shiny gelatinous resin. Thick magenta clots dripped and drizzled into a massive puddle at the base of the tree.

"Right. So that thing puked its guts out all over you, huh?" Shikamaru dropped his gaze, the half-smile vanishing when he found Neji bent over at the waist, hands on hips. "Hey, you okay?"

"No."

Pulse jumping, Shikamaru started forward only to draw up short when Neji thrust out a hand to warn him away.

"Talk to me, Neji," he growled, anxiety rising in his eyes.

"It's an opiate."

Shikamaru's brain froze, along with his heart. "What?" he sputtered.

Neji straightened, his eyes casting around in a glazed orbit. "It's an opiate…I feel it…"

Taking a breath, Shikamaru calmed his mind and stepped over, lifting his hand close to Neji's arm, hovering but not touching. "We need to get out of here fast. My chakra's low and you smell like dessert."

Neji snorted, but his lips tucked up in a soft, drowsy smile. A smile that Shikamaru had only ever seen once before. Once upon a drunken night. He'd have been amused, but the fear was stronger. He needed to get Neji to a medic.

"You okay to walk, Hyūga?"

Neji hummed deeply, closed his eyes. "Absolutely."

He took a wavering step and spread his arms to keep his balance, the sleeves of his robe fanning out, making him look like an exotic bird spreading its wings. Well, so long as he didn't start flapping; though he'd probably feel like he was flying any minute now.

_Crap. Only one way to do this._

Sighing, Shikamaru dredged up whatever remained of his chakra. "I'm gonna shadow possess you, okay? We'll be running, which is probably going to circulate this through your system even faster." He glanced around. "But I'd rather deal with your dopey ass than hand mine over for dinner." When Neji didn't respond, he stepped over and snapped his fingers in front of the closed eyes. "Oi. Neji. You still with me?"

Dark lashes lifted, glazed moonstones eyes drifting in and out of focus, trailing over Shikamaru's face. "I'm always with you, Nara."

The soft reply slipped like a blade between Shikamaru's ribs. It took him a few breaths to respond. "Good to know. Now let's get gone."

* * *

"_Run. Run now. Run and don't look back."_

"_Get up, dammit. It doesn't end here."_

"_You're right. You're gonna live. Take the kid. Take the kid and go."_

"_Not without you."_

"_Hey now…you know the score. We can't all cut and run."_

"_Don't ask me to do this…"_

"_It's what we do, Genma. The kid won't remember…at least not all of it…I tried."_

"_Stop talking."_

"_Shit…never enough time to do it right…to do it over. You know what I'm talking about…"_

"_Stop talking and get up."_

"_He won't remember it all. Don't ask him about it…ever…and if he starts to remember…"_

"_You'll be there to fix it, now get up."_

"_Listen to me, Genma. You go to the people I told you to. He can't be allowed to remember. But you will. You have to. 'Cause you gotta remember your promise to me…and my promise to the Sandaime. Now swear it."_

"_Bastard, don't ask me to do this."_

"_You'll do it. Because that's what we do. Now swear it."_

"…_Shit."_

"_Swear it!"_

"_I swear it."_

"_Good. Now get the hell out of here."_

_A percussive BOOM from behind and a wall of heat slammed into his spine._

Genma came awake with a gasp, back arching off the _tatami _floor. He froze, disoriented and in darkness, caught at that midway point between dreams and waking. His skin stung, felt like he'd been dragged over hot coals. Nausea swirled in his gut, a poisonous eddy. And behind his eyes, a headache pulsed like a sonovabitch.

_Shit…_

His eyelids cracked open, lashes fluttering at half-mast. Contours swam together, no shapes, no sense. He felt lethargic, light-headed, but still too low to the ground. Underground. Pressure all around, blood pumping like sludge, limbs heavy, barely responsive.

_Hn. Bad trip..._

He flexed his fingers, heard the thud and roll of a shōchū bottle. Squinting, he saw pink pills scattered across the mats, shrinking and swelling, dancing and spinning_. _He tried to focus but his vision doubled, tunnelled, blurred.

_Really bad trip…_

He tipped his head back, looked up through heavy lids. Moonlight flooded through the balcony doors, washed across the ceiling, a bright glowing box. He raked his hair back from his face, _hitai-ate _long discarded, along with his turtleneck. Waif had probably claimed it, clawed the hell out of it, maybe even crapped in it.

_Wouldn't be the first time._

Scowling, Genma pressed his bare back against the coarse weave of the straw matting and sighed against his palm. When had he passed out? He didn't remember crawling into this room…

_Crawling…_

Like the cold across his skin.

He went very still, became immediately aware of the scent of blood, a brass taste at the back of this throat. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he turned his head against the floor and stared across into the mismatched eyes of the figure perched in the far corner of the room, draped half in shadow. Sweat glistened on the intruder's pale skin, soft and dewy in the moonlight. Blood, appearing more black than red, streaked the _tatami, _continued its wet brushstrokes up along bared arms, the muscles strung taut, elbows angled out, hands hanging between the drawn up knees.

Genma could feel the tension, a dense vibration in the air.

He drew his elbows beneath him; braced, wary, ready for anything – or at least he told himself he was. He was about as coordinated as a spaced out addict, felt more legless than lethal. Too bad drunken fist fighting had never been his forte.

_No, _he thought darkly. _Never could get drunk enough for that._

The heavy silence at the other end of the room felt distinctly sobering.

He redoubled his efforts to focus, his voice croaking out low and sleep-hoarse. "Kakashi."

No response, no recognition – just the ominous swirl of three black _tomoe_, the red eye fixed in a vacant stare. Genma recalled the look. Just like the look Kakashi had given him down in the subbasements. It was a look that belonged to a long lost time ago; as did this moment. Because it was back in the days of a long lost time ago that Kakashi would turn up like this, bleeding, bruised…maybe a little broken.

Genma never really knew, because he never really asked.

And that's why Kakashi would come.

No questions, no answers, no complications.

_Hn. There were complications alright._

One-sided, perhaps – and all the more complicated for that sad fact. Gazing across at Kakashi he wondered whether it was a single hour of grief calling out or the long sad history of a guilt-riddled past. It seemed that guilt and grief had joined forces tonight, come together like thieves, prying open all the floorboards in all the minds trying so hard to stay stable. Wrenching open forbidden troves, searching for buried memories.

There was a wealth to be found in Genma's psyche, to be plundered and played upon. That's why he protected it. Walled it up with silence. Nothing to say, nothing to suffer.

"_I wonder if you believe that you _need_ to suffer in silence, Genma."_

Dr Mushi's words burrowed into his brain, became termites, grew tiny pinchers and tiny legs, scuttled around, clawed and gnawed until Genma felt his control creaking, the wooden expression he'd worn for weeks, months – _two years_ – threatening to splinter. Even the nails hammered down in his wooden heart began to twist.

"You sorry sonofabitch, Kakashi," the Tokujō growled. He got up from the cold floor – an effort, hell, a fucking _event_ – and felt the mismatched gaze follow him out the cold room. How such a gaze could hold so many ghosts.

_Ghosts…_

To hell with ghosts. There was only one kind of spirit he cared for, the kind that got him drunk enough to forget. And even _that_ wasn't enough because...

"…_you gotta remember your promise to me."_

By the soft grillwork of moonlight streaking in through the scaffolding and balcony windows, Genma groped his way towards the kitchen, cursed the glass underfoot and began yanking open cupboards, searching for a medical kit. Shit, maybe he didn't have one. He barely knew the inside of his own cell. Promised Raidō he'd sort it out. Fix it. Like the lights. The flooring. The paintwork. The leaks. The holes. The cracks.

He gripped a jar of sesame oil. The smell struck his nose and he saw violet eyes reflected in the cracked glass.

"_Did you know the operative?"_

"_Yes, Homura-sama. I knew him." _

"_Then you know you are not the only one to carry this burden. But carry it you must.__"_

Genma smacked the jar down on the counter, heard the cracks split deeper, jagged white lines cutting across the glass. Sesame oil leaked between his fingers, oozed and spread across the countertop's cheap Formica…running…escaping…

"_Hey now…you know the score. We can't all cut and run."_

Anger so deep he couldn't even grasp it; felt nothing but a hard crust. A crust he'd long used to deflect all the voices howling around in his head. How they could be so accurate yet so far off the mark. So close to the truth yet so entangled in lies.

_"Oh some dogs are lying alright. Never thought you'd be that kind of sonovabitch though."_

_"How is it that the Goei Shōtai has changed you in worse ways than ANBU ever did?"_

Slamming open another cupboard, Genma began to swipe items out in harsh, angry flicks, set them free, sent them flying, birds from cages; cigarette packets, match boxes, empty containers, soup cans with peeling labels, sell-by dates two years over their stamped expiry. Two years. Two years since Kusagakure…two years since…

"_He can't be allowed to remember. But you will. You have to. 'Cause you gotta remember your promise to me…and my promise to the Sandaime…"_

"…_while you failed to protect Hiruzen's life you _will_ protect his secrets. That is your mission. That is your oath as Goei Shōtai."_

Snarling, Genma hauled open another cupboard, repeated the disembowelling process, faster and increasingly frustrated until the slash of his palms sent more fragile objects flying; shelf by shelf, detonations of plates, bottles and cups shattering on the cracked tiles, spinning into tiny little orbits…

"…_Now swear it."_

He slammed the cupboard door shut. It bounced back open. A mocking slap in the face.

"_Swear it."_

Genma slammed it again, watched it bounce back.

Slammed it. Watched it bounce. Slammed it. Watched it bounce.

He went at it again and again, harder and harder with the same result until it broke and swung down from its hinges…still hanging on…still _holding_ on…see-sawing before his eyes…

"_Swear it!"_

He put his fist clean through it. Heard the wood crack but felt nothing.

_Nothing._

Panting hard, he slicked his hands back through his hair, stepped away, came forward again, back-and-forth and once around in a staggering circle until his outflung arm slashed across the countertop, clearing it in one violent sweep, sending cartons and ceramic crashing to the unforgiving floor, orange soup and sticky rice.

"FUCK!" He braced his palms against the counter, shoulders hunched, head bowed low between his rigid arms, mind whirling, words buzzing like busy insects, body wanting to sag, sink, slumber.

Behind him, the air shifted, thickened. He felt it against his back, a tangible force, warm and thrumming.

Genma's face twisted in a snarl. "Take what you need and get out…" His voice grated through his teeth, strained and haggard as he felt; too rough, too raw, too real. There was no cold lacquered expression to mask his face, no biting sarcasm to cover his words.

_Nothing…_

And it wasn't the drugs, the drink or the dreams that had led him to this place…to this massive fuck up – it was duty. Divided duties. Loyalties torn asunder. Genma gave a harsh, humourless laugh. He clasped his hands together on the counter and pressed his brow against his forearms, shaking his head, rocking his body. _Duty_. A duty he'd fulfilled flawlessly, right up until he'd failed. Failed flawlessly. _Once Twice_. _Thrice…_how many times? Getting involved in Asuma's shit. Wanting to _protect_ Asuma from that shit. Wanting to believe it wouldn't hit the fan. Wanting to…

_What? Be a better man?_

Pathetic, pointless, personal shit. What he wanted didn't matter. He should never have given Asuma that clue. Should never have left it lying around for Kakashi to find. Should never have gone to Kurenai's. Should never have closed distance. Should never have made—

Contact…Kakashi's cool callused fingers skimming across his flanks, following the red rivers Kurenai's nails had carved into his skin.

Genma stiffened in shock, shoulders drawing up, his breath halting.

Thumbs traced the long indentation of his spine, digging into stiff muscle, rolling hard, pushing for something buried deep beneath the surface, searching for nodes and nerves, all of them connected to a nexus point – a switch kept off, in constant shutdown.

_Shut this bastard down. Now._

Genma snarled, came alive in a jump-start.

Without the presence of mind to widen his stance, he slammed back against the hard body – uncoordinated, unbalanced – half-twisting into the shove.

Mistake.

Kakashi's hand flew to his nape, locked like the jaws of a predator, rough and unforgiving. Red eye blazing, he slammed the side of Genma's face down against the counter, blunt nails biting in. The high-percussion blow rattled through the Shiranui's skull, caused memory, cold and bright, to glitter in Genma's peripheral vision; a thousand tiny shards, pins-and-needles in the brain.

_Pale sweat-flecked skin stretched over shifting muscle…kunai wires wrapped around wrists, the blade buried in a tree…bark chafing shoulders and back…a bared throat, neck arched, skin abraded by ropes…thighs clamped like iron slabs…power…pressure…pleasure and…_

_Pain_. It flared in Genma's head. A delayed throb that burst along his cheek and jaw, amplified by his pulse, beating heavy in the cords of his throat, then deeper in his chest. It picked up the rhythm of his heart, pulsed drug-like into his blood, pooling low in his belly where it twisted and writhed in perverse coils before pumping outwards, hot and thick between his legs, leaving him instantly, achingly hard.

Disgusted, Genma choked back a curse and breathed harshly through his nose.

Kakashi leaned down at the ragged sound, a sinuous shift of muscle that pushed and pulled over Genma's back in erotic mimicry of the sex act. He felt Kakashi's fingers tighten at his neck, heard the copy-nin's other hand smack across the counter in a wet slap. Then it was back on his skin, oiled and slippery, snaking around the sharp curve of his hip, sliding across the tense planes of his stomach, redirecting until long knowing fingers slipped beneath fabric, sought hard jutting flesh.

The contact flipped that dormant switch in Genma's mind.

Eyes flashing wide, he came alive with violence. Aggression hit his system, ran a full lap in a single heartbeat. He jammed his right foot at the wooden plinth and kicked back, crashing their bodies together, bringing his left foot up to lodge against the countertop, preventing another head-slam.

Kakashi's grip transferred, those steel fingers fastening at Genma's throat.

Pressure, pain, panic…

But rather than a cold grip of dread, Genma felt a wholly different and far more disturbing sensation taking hold. Kakashi squeezed tighter. The air thinned in Genma's lungs but the heat inside him thickened, an unnatural fire starved of oxygen but glowing hotter, making him swell harder, ache deeper. He choked out a groan.

_You sick bastard._

And Kakashi knew it. Remembered it. Called on that knowledge now to incapacitate, to intoxicate…

_Intoxicate…toxic…_

He'd been clean of _this_ particular drug for years. Had almost forgotten its deceptive poison, its sweet empty promise, remembered the cold complicated mess it would leave behind.

And he wouldn't be able to cut and run from that…

Hissing, Genma braced his leg and shoved back – felt as if he were going through mud, slow, sluggish. And then he crashed, slammed up against Kakashi's iron resistance. A great heaving shudder rocked between their bodies, muscles shifting and grinding together like tectonic plates, pleasure and pain spiralling from the epicentre.

Kakashi's fingers tightened.

Genma choked out a breath, arched against him, dizzy with the asphyxiating rush of alcohol, opiates, adrenalin, anger, arousal – and an animal burst of raw, primitive need. He'd starved it for years, felt it turning on him now, an emaciated and bitter thing, hungry for flesh, thirsty for feeling…

"It howls inside you, doesn't it?" Masked lips settled at his ear and the voice that rumbled through in staggered pants was stripped of its mellifluous inflections, leaving it low, gravelly – almost guttural. "I know. I felt it when we fought. The way we used to fight. The way we used to—"

"_Fuck_,"Genma hissed through his teeth.

Kakashi tensed behind him and Genma rasped a breathy chuckle. Kakashi had always hated that word. At least, he'd never used it out loud. Even back in the day when their version of rock, paper, scissors was food, fight, fuck.

Genma would spit the curse like a senbon, use it to provoke a response, but it had never been the kind he expected. Little surprise there. Animalistic as they'd been together…there was always _something _in Kakashi's touches, even when those touches were drawing blood. This unutterable _something_ turned a wild crazy fuck into a desperate fusion of feeling too intense to be kept simple, clear and uncomplicated.

The most complicated part? Kakashi's total obliviousness to it, right up until the end.

Unfortunately, it was the copy-nin's most naïve and oblivious actions that Genma had fallen for; from the smallest slips of truth to the largest and most transparent of lies; to the rare taste of lips slipped in amongst the roughest of touches; to the litany of prayers breaking up the curses and the panting breaths. It was these fleeting, fragile hints of humanity, these naïve actions of sudden tenderness that had no place inside of people like them; so damaged, so destructive, so desperate for a way out – which is how Genma had found his way in. He'd seen the cracks and he'd gone straight through them, gotten too close. Just like ANBU. So Kakashi had done what any smart, self-preserving man would've done. He'd cut and he'd run and he'd never looked back.

Genma hadn't had that luxury, that leeway. Not personally or professionally. Not with ANBU, not with Kakashi…and not with the last partner he'd been foolish enough to love and ill-fated enough to lose.

_Fate?_

He choked out another delirious laugh, bitter and black…

Tenderness, love, connection, that stuff just wasn't in his cards.

_Masochist…_

Of course. He'd learned to find pleasure in the pain…how the hell else to live with it?

A burn at the back of his eyes.

Sudden, strong…fucking _terrifying_…

Genma pressed his eyes shut, swallowed hard in an effort to choke down the ache. It wasn't from Kakashi's grip, but the copy-nin loosened his hold, reached up and cupped Genma's jaw, tipping his head back, opening up his airway.

Kakashi's breath feathered at his ear. "We had nothing to lose…nothing to live for…nothing but the pain. You remember?"

Genma's eyes flickered open halfway. The words went through him with a sobering chill, frosting over his flushed skin. He tensed his raised leg, the muscles bunched, foot braced against the countertop, ready to launch, turn the tables, wage a war. What a face-saving load of shit. He'd lose. Knew it. Was too far gone to fight, to think, to organize or direct any attempt at winning this round. Kakashi had caught him on the ground, in the gutter…

"I came to you," Kakashi went on. "Damaged…destructive…and you absorbed it. Took it. Expected nothing…got nothing…"

_That's not true._

Genma curled his tongue back, tasted the rough coppery scab at the roof of his mouth. He'd sooner choke on those words than give them away.

"Nothing. Just emptiness," Kakashi murmured against the crook of Genma's neck. "Until you showed me a way out of that hell. But you're still living there, aren't you?" Kakashi caught Genma's chin, twisted his wrist to turn the Shiranui's head, touched his masked lips to the corner of Genma's mouth and spoke a devastating whisper. "Why can't you leave?"

Agony exploded through Genma's chest, a phantom Chidori slicing through heaving sternum and bleeding heart. The last vestiges of tattered strength went out of him, a vital artery severed. His leg fell away from the countertop, swung down heavy as lead.

Kakashi's hand came around his throat again, rubbed, caressed. "Leave."

Shaking his head, Genma sucked in a frayed breath, let it out in a shudder when Kakashi's other hand, still slick with oil, stroked down along his torso, coasting over ridges of quivering muscle. The sweat and oil left silver streaks, shiny as saliva.

"You'll take a part of it with you," Kakashi breathed. "It howls…but it's a far cry from hell. Why stay?"

Genma squeezed his eyes shut, answered hoarsely. "Better the devil you know."

A barefaced lie, written in the crease between his brows and whispered in the rough slough of his breath when Kakashi's hand slid south, wrapped around responsive flesh, teased it rigid with the lightest of touches, stroking a slow, torturous path from tumescent root to swollen tip.

Heat…sweet aching _heat_…

Pleasure...it sparked and spat under his skin, eating through flesh and fibres like flame across parchment, leaving a smouldering trail behind.

_There'll be nothing left…_

Nothing new. Nothing much to begin with anyway. Why fight it? He was losing anyway, felt the warmth of a long forgotten fire ribboning outwards, hot liquid tongues…a vision of a starved beast lapping up blood…

"Not here for the devil," Kakashi husked.

"Let me…_ah_…guess…" Genma groaned, head falling back, voice panting out, shuddering gaps between the words. "You came for the man…you used to know…?"

Kakashi's hand squeezed then fell away from his throat, dragged through the oil slathered on Genma's chest, slid down and around and between them. "Let him go, Genma…"

Genma clenched his teeth, gasped when Kakashi's body rocked against him, a seismic shudder of grinding muscle, fissuring so deep that veins stood out like blue cracks on pale hard surfaces, a frozen over tundra of flesh that began to shimmer in a heat haze.

A deep throaty growl, the mask feathering with hot breath…

"Let him leave…" Kakashi rumbled again.

Genma shook his head, reached back and drove his hands past barriers of fabric, gripped two globes of solid flesh, digging his fingers into the powerfully flexing glutes. Kakashi's hips jerked at the contact and Genma felt the hard stab of the copy-nin's arousal, ribbed by the drag of knuckles, up-and-down in an anointing slide, mirroring the hand working him into a shuddering wreck. An addict relapsing…

_Withdrawal…_

God knows he tried to focus on that, tried to flush out the chemicals, the endorphins, the living fire, but they united with Kakashi's touches, became a living thing inside him, an incubus feeding whilst the desire, strong as the drugs, sedated all resistance, all refusal, all reason…

And then he felt the burning penetration...

A dripping needle straight into the vein…

_Ah yes. Hit me fast…hit me…hit me…hit me…_

A violent upward thrust rocked him onto the balls of his feet, sent fire soaring from the root of his spine right up to top of his head…sent him flying…flying…flying…

* * *

TBC.

**A/N: **Why yes. It happened (again)...I underestimated the power of my own masochism. This insane chapter ended up being in excess of 50 pages…so yes, I was brutal. I chopped the monster in half (well, sort of – my maths leaves much to be desired). This means I'll be slamming you guys with one more instalment (and my tea bill) – all ShikaNeji (they deserved their own chapter separate from this one), plus a little epilogue to fully round up Requiem. Typos may be lurking, I shall always endeavour to hunt them down - thanks to those of you who've helped me catch them! **Reviewers** – thank you so much for the awesome feedback for the last chapter. Your support and shared thoughts are the conveyor belt that keeps me grinding out the goods. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! And now, the end is officially nigh.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: NARUTO and its characters were created and are owned by Masashi Kishimoto. Original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement intended.

Title: REQUIEM

Pairings: ShikaNeji, Asuma/Kurenai, Shikaku/Yoshino

Rating: M / R (language etc.)

Genre: Angst/General

Summary: Death is a fate we all share, but grief can leave us divided. In the shadow of Asuma's death the shinobi of Konoha learn that grief, unlike death, isn't just a thief in the night – but a night in itself. (BtB series)

**Timeline**: Shippuden. Neji and Shikamaru aged 17-18 (post-Hidan and Kakuzu arc, pre-Invasion of Pain arc). Approx. 2 days after Hidan's burial.

* * *

**REQUIEM**

by Okami Rayne

**Chapter Eight**

Crackling plastic brought Shikamaru awake with a start, his head lurching off a shoulder. He gasped, reached up to knead the crick in his neck.

"Wow. Look who's awake."

Shikamaru winced, too tired to be embarrassed. It took his brain a moment to rev up out of the theta zone, documenting all the aches and pains that told the stupid simple story of a crappy nap in a position of spinal torture. Then there was the soreness covering every square inch of his skin, like he'd been boiled alive.

"Ow…" he croaked.

"Hey, I tried," Chōji said, bumping his shoulder against Shikamaru's head, the damp strands splayed every which way. "I should totally charge you and Ino for pillow privileges. I'm kind of soaked, by the way."

Grunting, Shikamaru rolled his head back against the broad shoulder, keeping his eyes squeezed shut against the glare of the overhead lights. "Not sorry," he mumbled and then, straight after. "Neji?"

"No news yet," Chōji said, careful not to jostle the shadow-nin. "How you feeling?"

Shikamaru sniffed, wrinkled his nose against the chemical burn in his nostrils. "Like I just got all five layers of my epidermis ripped off."

Not too much of an exaggeration.

After his chakra had given out and he'd half-collapsed with Neji through the doors of the emergency department – much to Neji's explosive and unstoppable hysterics – he'd been scooped up by a gaggle of nurses and frogmarched into an examination room.

_More like a torture chamber._

After explaining his run-in with the new chakra-enhanced hybrids, the doctor had jumped back from him as if he were contagious. The rest had happened so fast he'd had no time to process let alone _protest_ the treatment that followed.

_Definitely a torture chamber._

Quarantined in a sterile room, Shikamaru had been unceremoniously stripped, thrust into a cubicle shower and steamed to a lobster shade under a temperature tantamount to acid rain. Skin aflame, he'd been scrubbed raw with some non-alkaline, non-carcinogenic chemical disinfectant and hosed down head to toe.

He'd emerged looking more fuchsia pink than Neji.

With nurses clucking around him, he'd been slathered with aloe, wrapped in a starchy _yukata_ and passed on into the hands of an Aburame doctor who'd proceeded to coax out a colony of dinobird's blood-sucking fleas from under his skin.

_Nice._

A half-hour into the tick-removal trauma, Chōji and Ino had come bursting into the room, bearing fresh clothes and worried expressions. Their sympathy hadn't saved him from another acid rain shower. After a thorough shampooing and a final hose-down he was cleared on the contagious front, dismissed from quarantine and ordered home.

He'd politely declined by refusing to listen.

Abandoned at the nurses' station, he'd been ignored for the most part, failing to extract any information about Neji from a woman who insisted on communicating in some weird hospitalese lingo that only Ino seemed to grasp.

Exhausted, sore and thoroughly pissed, Shikamaru had begun to raise his voice, which had earned him a time out in the waiting room. Chōji and Ino had guarded the door to ensure he didn't try to give them the slip. He'd tried. He'd failed.

_Then when did I…?_

He didn't remember falling asleep. Embarrassingly enough, he _did_ remember losing a heated argument with Ino over possession of her hair tie – his had been incinerated with his clothes. Anger aside, he recalled feeling, dizzy, sick and a little breathless. Remembered pacing, grousing, turning tight frustrated circles before…before…?

Frowning, he rubbed at his eyes, searched his brain.

Yeah, the rest was a blank – which could only mean...

"Did I pass out?" he croaked.

Chōji snorted. "You totally did."

"Did I hit the floor?"

"You kind of did this circular little swoon into my arms. It was very romantic."

Shikamaru screwed his eyes shut tighter. "I hate you."

Chōji laughed. "I even carried you bridal style."

"Ugh. How long was I out?"

"My dead arm says about forty minutes or so."

Shikamaru winced. "Why did I…?"

"Your chakra was crazy low. So was your blood pressure." Chōji was quiet for a moment, looking down at the top of the shadow-nin's head. "Kinda scared me back there."

"I thought I was being romantic."

"Shikamaru…"

"Yeah, I hear you. I know. I made a bad call. Stupid."

"Yeah. Real stupid. Not like you. Why'd you do it?"

To lie or not to lie, that was the question. Shikamaru sighed and twisted around on the cheap plastic beam seating that lined the walls. He kept his eyes shut, rubbed at his dry lids and pinched the bridge of his nose until the ache in his skull eased. "Because for a moment I didn't think I _could _do it."

"Huh?"

"You remember what you said to me? Back at the pavilion?"

Chōji shifted uncomfortably. "We both said some stuff…"

Surprised that his friend suspected an upcoming tit-for-tat, Shikamaru bumped his head back against the tense shoulder, reassuring Chōji without needing to reach back. "Yeah, but the stuff you said was warranted."

Chōji didn't deny it, which the shadow-nin respected and appreciated.

When he felt Chōji relax, Shikamaru went on, or at least he tried to. "After Asuma…" his throat all but closed on the name. "After our last mission—"

"Shikamaru, you don't have to—"

"Yeah, I do. I had my head together for that. But it's like…" Shikamaru let out a breath, dug his thumb against the ridge of his eyebrow, found the pressure point and pressed hard. "I get fractured…I get flashes…"

"Flashes? What do you mean?"

Even with his lashes squeezed shut, Asuma's face flickered behind Shikamaru's eyes like a faulty film reel, images projected from the past, a series of vignettes, Team 10 snapshots faded out at the edges, still too raw to bring into focus. But one thing did frame itself firmly in his mind. His promise to protect his friends, to preserve them…so they didn't become faded out memories…flash backs and fractures…

_I can't lose anyone else, Chōji…and if I lose my head…_

"I just need to know that won't let you guys down," was what he said instead. "I needed a high-stress situation. Needed to know that I could think and act under pressure."

"There were safer ways to do it, you know?"

"Hindsight. Did I mention the part about feeling stupid?"

"Yeah." Chōji shifted, nudged his shoulder gently. "Shikamaru, you've never let us down. You just don't always let us in. And that's…I get it…but it's not…uh, Ino would totally explain it better than me."

Smiling, Shikamaru began pressing around his brow. "I'm due an earful, huh?"

"Nah, I think you made up for it. You're due a big fat chakra pill and a glass of salt-water though."

"Yeah, that's not happening."

"Hey, doctor's orders. Ino made the pill herself because the latest batch are crazy pills."

"Yeah. Kiba gave one to Akamaru..."

"Right. So you gotta take Ino's or she'll brain me. She told me to make sure you ate it to get your blood pressure and your chakra back up. Said it tastes better than the stuff Sakura makes."

That was in no way reassuring or tempting. But then, neither was the thought of keeling over onto his ass or falling into anyone's arms.

"Heh, you're thinking about your swoon, aren't you?"

Shikamaru cringed. "You said something about a pill?"

"And salt-water."

"I can do that."

"Ha. Might wanna sit up then. I'll catch you when you swoon but I won't give you the kiss of life if you choke."

Chuckling quietly, Shikamaru made to sit up and sagged at the onslaught of vertigo. He gripped the back of the seat, blinking hard. "Okay…this is interesting…"

"Hey, take it slow. You're still woozy."

"Did I donate blood while I was out?"

"I think you fed an army of vampire fleas. Those things were creepy."

"Thanks for reminding me." Good thing the only irritation under his skin right now was the red burn of embarrassment; the thought that he'd been stupid enough to go charging into the danger zone, trying to prove a point about being stable.

_Smart. Real smart._

Blowing out a breath, he pulled damp strands away from his face and dragged a hand back through his unbound hair, raking blunt nails against his scalp.

His fingers caught in a knot.

_No. Not a knot._

Shikamaru's eyelids fluttered irritably.

_The hell?_

Frowning, he fingered the rope of matted hair, followed it back through the dark strands and found another one, another two…three…four..._more_.

He came forward in his seat, eyes wide, frown dark. "Chōji…"

The Akimichi turned his head, made a choked noise that sounded suspiciously like a withheld laugh. "Oh boy."

_Oh no._

Very slowly, as if to deny the inevitability of the moment, Shikamaru brought his other hand up, smoothed his fingers back through the dark choppy strands, finding string after string of…

_Oh HELL no._

A hiccup of laughter, smothered against a crisp packet.

Shikamaru turned his head, bringing the full force of his glare like a blade over his shoulder, stabbing Chōji with the razor look. _"_Where is she?" he growled, disturbingly quiet, dangerously low.

Chōji shrugged, eyes sparkling. "I think it suits you."

"You let her do this. I was out for the count and you _let_ her—"

"Well, technically I didn't _let—_"

"You _let_ her _braid_ my god damned hair!"

Chōji hung his head, face buried in his crisp packet. "Yes. Yes I did."

Shikamaru scowled, felt a tic starting up in his eyelid, watching the crisp packet shrink and balloon as Chōji struggled to control his breathing, trembling with suppressed laughter.

Shikamaru shook his head, sent the tiny little braids swinging. He stabbed a finger at his hair, glaring. "There's no coming back from this, Chōji."

"Aw, c'mon. I caught you when you swooned."

"That's too bad. You shoulda let me fall."

"No way!"

"Shoulda let me smash my head in so I wouldn't remember who the hell you were when I woke up."

Chōji exploded into laughter, blowing the crisp packet half-way across the room.

Shikamaru pinned him with a withering look. "Bet I had my head in your lap while she was doin' it too."

Chōji guffawed, had to grip the arm of his seat to stay upright, the swirls glowing bright on his flushed cheeks. "It's true…it's true…" he wheezed out.

"Man, you're sick."

"I'm sorry, Shikamaru."

"Yeah, I can tell you're _real_ cut up about it." Turning away, Shikamaru slouched back against Chōji's shoulder and began picking at the stupid braids with his fingers, yanking out the weave in sharp tugs. "I hope it was worth it."

"She's buying me barbecue for a week."

"Figures."

"I know, right? She's as bad as Asuma w—" Chōji stumbled over the word, finished quietly, "…was."

Was. Used to be. Never would be again.

"Yeah," Shikamaru husked. Sucking in a rough breath, he tucked his chin down and began working on undoing the next braid, eyes rolled up and close to crossing, as if trying to see through the top of his skull.

_Troublesome girl._

He felt Chōji shift slightly, heard the crackle of another packet. "Uh, Shikamaru? Your hair's gonna do that weird mermaid thing that Ino's does if you take those out now."

Shikamaru's fingers froze as he considered the horror, but he fast resumed his efforts, kicking his feet up onto the adjacent seat. "Then I'll stick my head in a sink. Or maybe you can hold it down a toilet and Ino can pull the flush."

Abased, Chōji winced. "I'm sorry, Shikamaru." His guilty silence lasted a whole of ten seconds, laughter wavering just beneath the surface of his voice. "D'you want me to help you out with that?"

"Help me out, my ass," Shikamaru growled, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. "Where is Ino, anyway?"

"They called her about a half hour ago. She's helping out with Neji."

Shikamaru's fingers stilled, along with his breath. How the hell could there _still_ be no news?

"She didn't say anything?"

"She said she'd come running if something was wrong. Guess we'll find out when she gets back."

Shikamaru resisted the urge to ask just when the hell that would be. Grasping for distraction he began on another braid, woven sadistically tight, grimacing as if he were picking out stitches. "Ugh. Can't believe she had time to make me food pills _and _maim me."

"Man you should've seen her, Shikamaru. She totally took over. Even one-upped the doctor and started going on about opiates and botany and stuff." Chōji paused, let out a soft breath. "Asuma-sensei would'a been proud."

Pain pulled again between Shikamaru's brows, sharp as ever, but dulled by the faintest of smiles. "Yeah. He would."

An easy quiet settled between them, but for how long it lasted he couldn't have guessed, his head nodding, heavy with the weight of each passing second as he worked on the final tangles…fingers fumbling…arms aching and eventually coming down…a kind of weightlessness…like sinking…soothing...the gentle pressure of a hand resting on his head…

_Asuma…?_

Shikamaru came to awareness some time later…drifting just beneath the surface of sleep. He heard the vague sound of more plastic rustling, the muffled crunch of potato chips and the gnash and grind of teeth…

_Chōji…_

The overhead buzz of the tungsten lights, their bright glare beating against his eyelids…

_Hospital…_

More noise tuning in and out…voices passing, floating away…until, further off, drawing close, there came the acoustic click of heels…

Stirring at the loud rap, Shikamaru's lashes flickered.

The sharp footfalls drew closer, then redirected. The mechanical groan of the coffee machine sounded, followed by the sputter of water, the scrape of a stirrer swirling around a foam cup.

A sudden aroma; the strong smell of coffee.

Sniffing, Shikamaru's eyes slipped open – and narrowed immediately.

Cerulean orbs sparkled above him, blonde strands quivering. "Loving the sexy bed-head look, Shikamaru." A soft giggle. "It totally suits you."

Way too groggy for a sharp-tongued retort, Shikamaru settled with a quiet grumble in the back of his throat. Avoiding Ino's cat-got-the-cream grin, he turned his head away, twisting his shoulders as he made to put his back to her.

Chōji nudged him before he could nod off again. "Shikamaru."

"Up you get, lazy bones. I brought coffee instead of salt-water. Be grateful."

No response.

Ino huffed, leaned over and blew a cool stream of air into his face.

Shikamaru scrunched up his nose, gave a long-suffering sigh."Why?"

"I come bearing the gifts Chōji was _supposed_ to force feed you."

"I felt bad to wake him," Chōji defended.

Shikamaru snorted, sitting up a bit. "I'll bet that's what you told yourself the first time around." He shot a half-hearted glare at Ino. "When I was getting a perm."

Ino grinned. "I've been waiting _years _to do that." She handed him one of the two steaming cups, plonked a large brown chakra pill the size of a rice-ball into his palm and snapped a rubber band off her wrist. "Here, now you can stop whining."

Shikamaru took the proffered 'gifts' with a grunt and scraped his hair up into its spiky ponytail, tight enough to pull out the stupid kinks. Munching on the chakra pill, he ignored Ino's simpering grin. He took two quick sips of the coffee, made a sour face and squinted up at her like she'd given him poison.

Ino smirked. "I know, right? The hot chocolate is even worse. Neji seemed to like it, but then he _did_ try to drink a tub of floral shampoo and a bottle of disinfectant."

Blinking wide, Shikamaru twisted in his seat, legs swinging down. "What?"

Ino nodded solemnly, but her gaze was playful. "Yeah. He was on a mission to drink all the colours of the rainbow." She swirled a finger near her temple and made a cuckoo noise. "He also slaughtered all the potted plants in the recovery room. You can see him in a minute."

_Recovery room?_

Anxiety spiked. Shikamaru clasped his coffee between his knees, taking a breath. "Is he okay?"

Chōji snorted. "Dude, he was trying to drink bleach. _Rainbow_ bleach. That's not okay."

Ino squished her lips, waggled her head. "Well let's just say he's still a little..." she fluttered her hands around.

Shikamaru levelled her with a dry look, brows climbing up. "High?" he supplied.

"Ha! Hyūga's on the nod!" a voice piped up from across the waiting area, followed by the slam of a fist against an uncooperative vending machine. A jangle of coins and the machine coughed up the goods, plus extras. "_Nice_."

Shikamaru craned his neck, glancing past Ino.

Kiba sat crouched at the other end of the room, his shaggy head glued to the dispenser slot, peering upwards into the machine's glass bowels, patting its broad metal flank in an awkward embrace. "You've been holding out on me, my friend."

Chōji chuckled. "Neat trick."

Ino snorted, turned at the waist and brought her arms across her chest in an oddly defensive gesture. "What're _you _doing here, Kiba? Besides stealing."

"He popped his shoulder," Shikamaru said, biting into the chakra pill, frowning questioningly at Ino. What was her deal with Kiba?

The dog-nin scooped his 'stolen' goods into the precautionary sling that held his right arm against his chest. Sauntering over, his leather jacket hung open, revealing an additional shoulder-immobiliser strapped across his torso, the knitted black fabric clinging tight.

Shikamaru's brows went up. "Was it that bad?"

Kiba shook his head, rolled his shoulder. "Nah, I played to the crowd. Was aiming for the sling to stash my goods, but they insisted on the stupid strap too." He jerked his chin at the bindings. "This is coming off as soon as I get outta here."

"Well that's a stupid idea," Ino said, frowning at him.

Kiba winked at her. "No need for concern, they gave me some anti-inflammatory pills and an urgent prescription for TLC."

Ino arched a delicate brow and gave a tight, saccharine smile. "Too bad neither of those will take down the swelling in your _head."_

Pausing mid-chew, Shikamaru frowned at the unwarranted barb. "Ino."

Kiba let out a shrill whistle and knocked his chin back like he'd taken a blow. "Wow, there'll be no sweet-talking my way towards sympathy with you, huh?"

Ino offered another thin, unpleasant smile. "Sweet-talking takes _charm_, Inuzuka."

"Sure did," Kiba drawled, ripping a packet of beef jerky open with his teeth. "The sweet little intern couldn't do _enough_. She insisted on keeping me in overnight but I told her I had to see a man about a dog."

Ino rolled her eyes. "Is that supposed to be witty?"

Kiba's scowl was ruined by the gleam in his eye. "Guess you're not gonna throw me a bone then."

Shikamaru's lip quirked and he cut the terrible puns short before Ino could. "Hey, how _is _Akamaru?"

The dog-nin's expression pinched. "Hana's running some tests. She kicked me out and told me to come back later. They've recalled those pills, you know?"

"No surprise there," Shikamaru said. "Wouldn't wanna know what that stuff would do to a human."

"Exactly. Rumour has it the batch was deliberate. Both the pills and the beasties."

Shikamaru's brows went up. That certainly explained the urgency of the upcoming mission. Swallowing the rest of the chakra pill, he washed it down with a gulp of coffee, grimacing. "What're they doing about the rest of the chimaera?"

"I hear they've sent a bunch of Jōnin to do the mop up," Kiba sighed, looking putout. "Man, I'da loved to let loose on those things. Anyway, figured if I had some time to kill I might as well do something constructive."

The shadow-nin smiled. "Like violate vending machines and smuggle beef jerky."

Kiba shrugged, dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a blister of painkillers. "You call it smuggling, I call it healthy scavenging." He paused, cocked a rogue grin. "And hey, I know _your_ contraband, Nara. Want me to go flirt some more? I could swipe some cigarettes. Hell, I could probably pilfer some heavy duty narcotics for Neji too, the closet hophead."

Snorting into his coffee, Shikamaru shook his head. "Save the abuse for when he's lucid, Inuzuka."

"Yeah, steely bastard ain't as easy to poke fun at anymore. I gotta save up the ammo. Blast him with it when he's all high-horse and unsuspecting." Kiba popped two horse pills with his thumb and tossed them to the back of his throat.

"Oh my god!" Ino shrieked, smacking the back of her wrist against his arm, splashing him with hot cocoa. "You're supposed to line your stomach and take those with water, you moron!"

Kiba shrugged and snatched her drink. Ino released it the second their fingers touched, yelping as if he'd scalded her.

Shikamaru winced. "Kiba, I wouldn't—"

The dog-nin gulped it back in two long swallows — froze abruptly — and sprayed half of it out his nose, sucking air against the burn, tongue flat out and panting. "Argh! What the hell was _that_?"

Ino gave him a sour smile. "Serves you right. You're _so_ paying for that."

"No shit I'm paying for it," Kiba growled, stroking his tongue around his scalded mouth until a belated gleam came to his eyes. "Paying for it. That reminds me." He flipped the empty cup around in his hand and wagged it at her. "You and I gotta have a little chat about some of your tried and tested products. That includes that snotty bitch you got working over the counter."

Nonplussed, Shikamaru looked to Chōji for a clue. The Akimichi shrugged, eyes riveted on the scene about to play out. He sat back, shovelling crisps like popcorn at the movies.

"_Bitch_?" Ino gaped. "Why? Because she didn't fall for your lothario crap?"

Kiba cocked his head like a confused animal. "Say what?"

"You didn't get what you wanted—"

"Damn straight I didn't—"

"—so you behaved like an ass." Ino thrust her chin to a truculent angle. "You'll be happy to know that she quit without notice and bawled her eyes out all the way home."

"Poor little piggy." Kiba tipped his head back, looking vindicated. "Saves me huffin' and puffin' and blowin' her house down then."

Ino choked out an incredulous laugh, fingers digging into her arms like claws. "Oh _wow_. Maybe if you'd behaved less like a _dog_ and more like a gentleman you'd actually have gotten what you wanted."

Kiba flicked an eyebrow. "When the head's that thick, charm don't cut it."

"Oh?" A nasty smirk simpered at the corners of Ino's lips. "And where did _you_ go to charm school, Inuzuka? The local dog pound?"

_Oh boy._

Shikamaru blew out a breath, rubbing his brow. "Ino."

But rather than the expected show of anger, Kiba pulled his head back and regarded Ino with a look that was at once surprised and appraising. "Ye-_ouch_. Kitty's got _claws_." He gave a mocking gentleman's bow, sullied by a pirate's grin. "Please drop by the playground, Princess. You could run a master class on chewin' ass. I'd sure show up for that." He leaned in closer, drawn by the flash of temper in her eyes. "Hell, I'd show up just to watch you _break_ those pretty claws as you _try _to chomp me down to size and pick me outta your teeth."

Ino's frown tightened but she held her ground. "Don't flatter yourself, Kiba," she hissed, white teeth flashing. "Besides, I'd sooner spit you out than chew you up."

He only smiled at her, mischief sparkling in his animal eyes. "Yeah, figures you'd turn your nose up." Spinning the styrofoam cup between them, he stopped just shy of tapping her on the nose with it. "And hey, let's face it. Given your refined and _delicate_ tastes, I don't think you've got the stomach for somethin' as raw as me."

Ino's gaze turned arctic.

Shikamaru and Chōji winced in unison and waited for the imminent explosion.

It never came.

With a wildcat hiss, Ino whirled on her heel. "Shikamaru, are you coming or what!" she yelled, her voice ricocheting off the walls, drawing a scowl and a terse '_sh'_ from a woman at the nurses' station.

Kiba watched her go, his open lips tilted in a half-smile, the tip of his tongue grazing a sharp incisor. A speculative gleam scintillated in the thin irises. "Tch. She's a handful."

Shikamaru arched a brow, exchanged a look with Chōji.

Chōji cracked a potato chip between his teeth and shrugged in routine pacifism. Good call. Now wasn't the time to puzzle over this colourful strip in the Yamanaka Rubik's Cube. Or puzzle over Kiba's sudden interest or involvement in it.

_Ugh. Alpha male mode required…_

Shikamaru just didn't have the energy right now. Was it even his business? Tucking his coffee under his seat, Shikamaru pushed to his feet, made as if to clap Kiba on the back and stole a diet soda straight out from under the Inuzuka's twitching nose.

Kiba jerked, his attention snapping back. He clutched his stash to his chest. "Hey!"

"Like candy from a baby," the shadow-nin drawled, ducking the foam cup that Kiba launched at his skull. "You should head home, Chōji," he suggested, moving to follow after Ino.

"I'll wait for Ino."

"Your call."

"Oi!" Kiba barked. "Don't come crying to me when you're shit outta smokes, Nara!"

Smiling, Shikamaru threw a backward wave, lengthening his strides to catch up with Ino. She'd marched on ahead, the rap of her heels ringing off the hard polished floor, ponytail lashing back and forth like the angry swish of a cat's tail. She pushed through a set of swinging doors, spun around and waited for him.

Shikamaru passed through, deciding to circumvent the Kiba drama. "Wanna give me a better update on Neji?"

Casual, calm. A crock of shit. While Ino would've told him pronto if something was seriously wrong, the thought of Neji drinking bleach and annihilating potted plants wasn't exactly an encouraging prognosis for the Hyūga's mental state.

"Right." Ino's black mood lifted a little and she hummed. "We cleaned him up, checked out his respiratory system—"

Shikamaru's pace staggered, along with his heart. "_What_?"

"Chill, Shikamaru. Neji's in good health. I think the worst he can suspect after the opiate wears off is some major queasiness. Although…" She gave him a grave look, compounded with the certitude of her medic training. "It's a good thing you got him in when you did. If they hadn't got him cleaned up straight away it might've been a different story."

Shikamaru sighed through his nose, didn't even want to picture that outcome…could feel too many shadows of the past closing in, happy to supply his brain with all the possible scenarios. Good thing Ino had been there to take over. The Yamanaka clan's botanical expertise was invaluable. Its application went far beyond the commerce of flowers and foodstuffs. Their input, combined with the Nara's advances in pharmaceutical study, had kept Konoha on the cutting edge of medicinal research and chakra augmentation.

_Hn. At least we've got boundaries. Not like whoever is playing god in Kusagakure with those beasts._

His father hadn't mentioned anything about chimaera hybrids. But then, the Nara clan were against animal experimentation. Outside of his father's input, Shikamaru had been privy to all of the panels held to discuss the Chūnin examinations. As an invigilator, he'd heard no mention of introducing new species with supplemental chakra enhancement. No whispers or rumours rippling through the proctor ranks. Genma, as his supervising Jōnin, would have told him.

_Weird…_

Shikamaru's mind flicked immediately to the recent mission outline.

"_Our objective is to determine whether Kusagakure is involved in the underground trafficking of chakra-enhanced specimens."_

_Specimens…_

The word ran cold as a shiver down his spine. An uncanny forecast began to take shape in his mind, predictions of what they might come up against, considering the monsters they'd tangled with back in the woods.

_Too early to assume._

But no harm considering the possibilities. Preparation and pre-emptive strategizing was his part in the game plan. And that was the point. He was still _in_ the game. He'd managed to keep his head during the fight, had already begun cataloguing everything he'd analysed about the animals they'd come up against.

_Good. Anything in advance is better than going in without a clue. Last thing I need is to be blindsided…_

Or betrayed by some stupid skittish reaction and those weird flashes hovering at the cordoned off borders of his mind.

_I know you're there…whatever you are…but you're not getting any closer._

If he could bury his emotions when facing off against his sensei's killers, then he could damned well keep it together long enough to complete the next mission.

_Because I'm not losing anyone else…_

On the tail end of that thought, Shikamaru's attention was arrested by something fluttering on his periphery. Turning his head, he realised it was Ino's hand waving around with animation that suggested she was passionately mid-rant about something. He tuned back in fast.

"—doctor was such a dork. So I explained to him that those flowers defend themselves using the chemical opioids in their resin. Of course, we're looking at hybrids here. Did you know that the—"

Shikamaru cleared his throat. "Ino."

"Oh, sorry!" She waved away the commentary. "Yeah. So, anyway, Neji will be fine. Like I said, he'll probably get sick later, but he's over the worst part of it."

"The worst part of it…?

"Yeah, the 'let's strap him down and knock him out before he injures himself' part of it."

Shikamaru winced.

Ino touched his shoulder lightly. "Hey, he's okay, really. He just reacted more energetically than we'd have expected from someone under the influence of an opiate _that _heavy. Although short-term effects usually have people swinging from a state of alertness to drowsiness. But in Neji's case his stress hormones shot through the roof. We had to restrain him."

Just the thought of it turned Shikamaru's stomach, knowing how Neji felt about being held down. "He fought?"

Ino tossed her head with a short laugh. "Oh he fought alright. I had to hop into his head and immobilise him. I got out pretty fast though." She grimaced, prodding her temple. "I _hate _doing that. Stable minds are bad enough, but drugged ones? Ugh. He had a hurricane going on in there."

Shikamaru could only imagine. Frowning, he rolled his shoulders, trying to shrug off the tension taking hold. "Does he have to stay here?"

"Well, he might be free to go in a couple of hours provided he's got someone staying with him until the opiate is outta his system. Either that or they strap him down and keep him in overnight."

_No way._

Especially if that meant being chained to a hospital bed and observed like a specimen. But then, Neji probably wasn't safe to go home either. God knows what the hell he'd say to Hyūga Hiashi in this state, let alone any of the elders.

Shikamaru sighed, rubbed at his mouth. "How long will he need to be watched?"

"Until he's back on form, I guess."

"And how long will that take?"

Ino made a face. "Hard to say, Shikamaru, everyone reacts differently. Add to that the whole hybrid plant thing? Who knows? They should keep him in overnight. Safer for everyone. I mean, who's going to spend the whole night watch—"

"I'll do it."

Ino stopped walking, raised her eyebrows at him. "What?"

"Wouldn't be the first time," Shikamaru reminded, continuing on down the hallway like he knew where the hell he was going. He glanced around for signs.

Ino caught up with him, touched his elbow and guided him right. "But where will you take him?"

Good question. He shook his head distractedly. "Back to mine, check in to a guesthouse, I don't know…I'll think of something."

"Okay. But be prepared for some randomness." She snorted, biting back a giggle. "I don't think I've ever heard Neji talk so much. It's surreal and kinda sweet."

"_Sweet?_" Shikamaru mouthed the word with amusement, turning aside as two nurses and a small insect-looking man with a reedy white ponytail and a mantis face trotted past, moving with purpose. The man flashed Shikamaru a quick sideways look, then kept on.

The Nara blinked, but thought nothing more of it.

They passed down another corridor and Shikamaru saw a sign pinned above the next set of doors: RECOVERY. As they approached, he slotted his hands into his pockets, felt a sudden stab of guilt for cutting off Ino's flower-rant and searched for something to say. He didn't need to search far.

_Ugh. Just do it. Like a band aid. Fast. Painless…_

"So," he began, thinking _band aid, band aid_. "What's up with you and Kiba?"

Ino slowed to a stop.

Silence. Slow and painful silence.

_Band aid my ass._

Just when he thought trespassing into her personal trouble would earn him a skull fracture, Ino jerked like a spurred horse, stomping on ahead.

Baffled, Shikamaru had to jog a couple of steps to catch up. "Ino," he called, the soft tone stopping her in her tracks. He came up beside her and glanced across, frowning now. "Did he do something to piss you off?"

Ino tossed her head, blowing air through her lips like a proud mare. Golden strands fluttered down again, curtaining her expression before she mumbled a confusing response of, "No. Yes. _No_. Well…not _exactly."_

Shikamaru's brow scaled up at the curiosity.

Ino sighed, took the soda from him and popped the lid with a crack and hiss. "You remember our joint birthday party at Hotaru?"

He suddenly wished he didn't. "Yeah," he said, slowly, carefully.

She hesitated, took a sip of the drink and wrinkled her nose against the fizz. "Well, you know I got drunk."

"Yeah, _that _I remember."

"And that I…kind of danced around…"

_Yeah, all over my foot…_

Then all the way down the hallway and all over…

_Kiba_.

Shikamaru blinked wide. "Oh." _OH_. Right. Awkward.

Ino gave a jittery laugh full of nerves and second thoughts, pressing the cold aluminium can against a flushed cheek. "You know what? It's not important. And kinda embarrassing. Never mind."

He watched her quietly, pokerfaced, debating whether to pursue the matter. It was always a gamble with Ino. Sometimes she appreciated the effort and sometimes she snubbed it beneath her heel. He'd just begun to weigh the pros and cons when she stopped, turned towards him.

"Thanks for asking though," she said softly, bumping her hip into the swinging doors that marked the entrance to the ward. She didn't follow him through this time.

Shikamaru paused, looked back over his shoulder.

Ino smiled, pointed down along the row of gurneys and beds, indicating the partition drawn at the back of the dimly lit room, close to the window. "You sure you want to take him outta here? You don't have to do this."

"I got him into this shit." That was explanation enough.

Ino nodded, turned. "I'll get them to release him into your care then."

"Hey, Ino?" Shikamaru's voice stopped her short. "Thanks for coming down. I appreciate it, the stupid perm notwithstanding." He held up a palm before she could rebuff him. "I'm serious, we would've been pretty screwed back there without you."

Blue eyes widened, then flitted away. "Oh, yeah, sure." She brushed off the thanks with another flutter of wrist and hand. "I'll come get you when the paperwork's all done." And then she was gone.

The doors swung shut.

Quiet settled over the room, a flimsy silence stirred by the soft whisper of the breeze rustling the rows of partition curtains. Shikamaru stood rooted for a long moment, letting his eyes adjust to the muted silver-grey light spilling in through the windows. He pulled in a breath, moved down the aisle between the rows of beds until he reached the end of the line.

A brief hesitation.

_Move, genius._

Parting the curtain, he moved to stand at the foot of the bed, staring at Neji from beneath gently furrowed brows.

The bed had been tilted up and while Neji wasn't hooked up to anything bleeping, blinking or buzzing, he seemed so still against the thin white sheets. The lean angular face, turned slightly aside, was dappled in a filigree of shadow and light, leafy silhouettes shifting across his throat and torso as the old oak tree shivered outside.

Shikamaru felt a similar tremble go through his body, skin prickling.

God, seeing Neji like this…the memories it resurrected…

_Don't go there._

He forced himself to step closer, to come around to the side of the bed, zeroing in on the details to keep from blurring the lines between the past and present.

_No bruises, no embolisms, no blood..._

Just a thin gauze strip secured around the Hyūga's brow, discrete and simple. Enough to save face without drawing attention to the curse mark. He didn't want to imagine how Neji had reacted to having his _hitai-ate _removed. Although, that concerned him less than the padded cuffs locked around the Hyūga's wrists and ankles.

_I got you into this mess…_

Frowning, Shikamaru tilted his head, the whites of his eyes gleaming softly in the moonlight, irises deep and dark. He wouldn't have recognised the look if he'd seen it reflected back at him in a mirror; he may even have balked at the sight of such unchecked emotion, so unaware of its sudden emergence, only its illicit residence in his soul.

It was with this soft unguarded gaze that he traced his eyes over the muscular curvature of neck and shoulder, the proud column of throat and strong slant of jaw. He smiled slightly to see the high pale cheeks rogued by a light dusting of pink, a flush courtesy of the opiate. Reassuring, always – every damn time that Shikamaru saw him – to find no sallow or blue tones in Neji's skin, no dark smudges under his eyes, no ugly contusions on his skin, no struggle or hitch in the steady rise and fall of that broad and contoured chest.

No pain, no suffering.

_Just deep breathing…_

Struggling to keep his own breaths even, Shikamaru reached out, glided the back of his knuckles along the proud sweeping jawline. Felt the warmth in the skin, heard the life in the soft stream of air ghosting from parted lips and remembered with startling clarity the way that rush of breath used to halve, tear itself into shreds, passing back and forth between them every time their mouths had moved together and against each other.

Shikamaru sucked a breath, shook his head against the vertiginous swirl of memories…

But _these_ memories didn't leave him cold. Not anymore. There was no more bitterness, no more salt into open wounds. Just an ache and a burn that left him craving, maybe even a little crazy. It was crazy for sure. Crazy how one touch, one look, one fleeting moment could put him back in the thick of it.

_It._

What the hell had Neji called it again?

_Ah. Yeah._

"A distraction…" he muttered, making a face. He looked up at the ceiling, mulled it over with a slow shake of his head. "A _distraction, _huh? For real? That's all you got? Didn't expect you to come up with such a lame copout for our troublesome situation." He angled Neji's sleeping face with a wry look. "That's _my_ role."

Neji's lips tucked up in a smile.

Mortified, Shikamaru jerked back, stunned and embarrassed by the abrupt termination of what he assumed was total privacy. "What the hell, Neji!"

Laughter, deep and sonorous; it spilt over Shikamaru in dulcet waves, rich and arousing. Scowling, he crossed his arms as if to ward off the reaction, fingers still burning from contact with Neji's skin.

"You're off…your game…" Neji rumbled.

Snorting, Shikamaru steeled himself against the Hyūga's reverberating chuckles and cocked his hip against the bed, determined to be peeved. He should've suspected something like this; there was just no way he was catching a break tonight. But frowning down at Neji, the shadow-nin lost all semblance of irritation the second those opal eyes flickered open, gazing up at him without focus.

"You lose," Neji said.

Shikamaru narrowed his eyes in phony menace to keep from blatantly staring. "Tch. I call some serious foul play, Hyūga."

"Most decidedly…" Neji purred, tilting his head against the pillow with a slow salacious smile. "You still lose."

Oh he was losing alright, losing a battle against himself. "Yeah. Most decidedly," Shikamaru muttered dryly, the words falling awkwardly in his drawl. He recovered fast, smirking. "But you still got owned by a big girly flower."

"It was good."

Shikamaru tucked his chin back in confusion. "Getting owned by a big girly flower?"

Neji shook his head drowsily, a rustle of dark strands against the sheets. "Teamwork. We work well together."

Momentarily stumped, Shikamaru averted his gaze to the back of Neji's hand, studied the chafed skin around the Hyūga's bound wrist. "Yeah," he said, so softly he wasn't sure the words even carried. "We do."

He turned away, pulled up a discarded stool and sank down, rubbing his hands across his thighs. "But we got lucky. Pretty much charged in there half-cocked." He winced, shook his head. "Stupid way to prove I had my head screwed on straight, right?"

"My name means screw. Did you know that?"

Shikamaru stared for a long awkward moment, shook his head. "Don't _ever_ say that to a girl, okay?"

Neji blinked slowly, didn't seem to register the mirth in the shadow-nin's eyes. "Your head is on your shoulders."

Shikamaru sucked his teeth to keep from smiling. "And there's the 2 million ryō question, Hyūga. If that was even a question. Guess we're gonna find out next week."

"Because there's a mission next week," Neji said – and then, with sudden authority. "I'm assigning you, Nara."

Going along with it, Shikamaru looked the surprised part. "Wow. Thanks for your consideration."

"Do you know why I'm assigning you?"

"Because the Hokage told you to?"

"Because I _can_," Neji corrected, lips curving.

Trying to ignore the charm in that smile, Shikamaru attempted a harassed look that held too much humour to qualify. "That's the second time you've tried to pull rank on me today, Hyūga. It's starting to lose its impact."

"I never lose."

"Yeah, only to flowers."

White eyes blazed. "That _plant_…" Neji spat the word like an epithet. "Thought it would use me to spawn."

"Uh. I think it was trying to kill you, Neji."

Sneering at the ceiling, Neji shook his head, fingers flexing, wrists twisting. "Prey upon my blind spot. Seduce me with its nectar..." He lurched forwards on the bed, snapping the restraints taut, looking as if he were about to retch. "Oh _god_…"

Shikamaru came up off the stool, eyes wide. "Neji?"

Those milky orbs darted around the room, bouncing off corners and curtains before alighting on the shadow-nin in wide-eyed horror. "I swallowed it."

"What?"

"The spawn."

"The sp...?" Shikamaru tapped a fist to his mouth and delicately cleared the chuckle from his throat. "Right." He sat back down. "I know. It's okay."

"No, Shikamaru. It's not okay. Do you know why?"

"Because you swallowed your enemy's spawn?"

"Because I quite enjoyed its saccharine taste."

Shikamaru had to close his eyes and clench his gut against the outright laugh. He felt a stitch in his side. Recovering a straight face, he patted Neji's stomach and eased the Hyūga back down. "Yeah. I'd believe that. Ino said you went after the floral shampoo too."

"Nature is a cruel temptress, Shikamaru."

"She sure is." He dipped his chin to catch the Hyūga's paranoid gaze, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I think the flowers have got you under thrall."

Neji's nose crinkled at the detected sarcasm. "You jest at my expense, but Ino spoke a vicious lie."

"Oh yeah?"

"She dared to call me a Haruno. Can you imagine my loss of face? Of all the emasculating…" Neji cut off, snarling at the injustice of it before his eyes scrolled across to the far corners of the sockets. "As you can see, my hair is no longer pink. And I'll have you know that I much prefer it this way."

Smirking, Shikamaru reached over and held up a thick lock for Neji's sideways inspection. "Yeah, that was one _vicious_ lie," he said, smoothing the rich mocha strands between his fingers. "Although, I'll have _you _know that it's the Haruno _men_ who have the pink hair. Not the women. So yeah, you'd have passed with balls intact."

A deep, contemplating pause. "The men have pink hair?"

"Yeah."

"My gods," Neji whispered, his face twisting into an expression of inconsolable pain. "Nature isn't cruel, Shikamaru. She's brutal."

Laughter erupted from Shikamaru's chest, racking him so hard that tears sprang to his eyes, his breath cutting off into a hiss that wouldn't stop. He clamped a fist to his mouth, rocked back and forth on the stool.

Neji looked at him with sympathy. "I knew it was contagious. Like misery."

Unable to contain another barking fit, Shikamaru bowled over and had to bring his elbows onto the edge of the bed for support, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, issuing a strangled gasp as his ribs cramped. "Ah…shit..."

"You're turning red," Neji observed. "Or perhaps purple. My vision has been compromised by my enemy." A vicious narrowing of opal eyes. "That _plant_."

"Ssh…" Shikamaru gasped, trying to heave air back into his starved lungs. He cupped his hands over his mouth and blew out his aching cheeks, sides cramping, eyes wet.

God _damn_, he hadn't laughed like that since…when?

Waiting for the hiccups in his chest to subside, he swiped at his eyes and finally looked over, amused to find Neji's gaze fixed on his hair, following the jagged spikes with such painstaking effort that the Hyūga's head followed the movements.

A hiccup of rusty laughter threatened. "Having fun?"

"Ino combed my hair. It was absurd and degrading. Far more intimate than her throwing flowers around in my head."

Shikamaru gave a bemused smile, chalking it up to the narcotics. "Count yourself lucky she didn't _braid_ your hair while you were burning the lining outta your stomach." At Neji's vacant stare Shikamaru mimed a bottle between thumb and forefinger and flicked his wrist to indicate a swig. "Rainbow bleach straight outta the bottle, huh? Must be an acquired taste. Figures you'd go for something hard-core."

"More vile slander."

"I don't think so, Hyūga."

"Lies," Neji huffed, rolling his shoulders against the stiffly tilted mattress before settling back, lids drooping. "Besides," he added. "I never swallowed."

"No, that was just the plant spawn, right?"

"Nature is brutal, Shikamaru," he repeated.

Shikamaru's lips curved in a dangerously besotted grin, dimples slicing into his cheeks. "Man, you're something else, you know that?"

"I've never understood that expression."

"It's a compliment."

"You don't give compliments."

"I do. Just not easily."

"Why?"

Shikamaru rolled a shoulder. "You should know. It takes something dramatic like a Hyūga Headbutt to make an impression."

Neji was silent for a long moment, his gaze cast to the side, digesting the words with a sour expression. When he finally looked over, his jaw lifted to a haughty angle. "Are you suggesting that I'm constantly trying to impress you?"

Shikamaru's brow flicked up. "Wow, your mental maths sucks right now."

"_That_ was an insult."

"Well spotted."

"Your insult subtracts the value of your compliment."

Shikamaru tilted his face into his palm, smiling. "Hello stupid simple arithmetic. Guess you're too far gone to grasp anything more than the basics."

"That's another insult. I'm keeping score."

"No, it's an observation. We're not keeping score."

"The first insult still stands. My score is superior."

Shikamaru scoffed, his grin breaking into a chuckle. "You're supposed to keep score of the insults _you _give, genius."

"My score is superior," Neji parroted.

"Your score is bullshit. So is your logic." The Nara sat back and spread his hands. "_There_. I just insulted you again. I'm already two points in the lead."

"You're taking advantage of my mental impairment."

Laughing, Shikamaru pinched the bridge of his nose, shook his head. "You just insulted yourself _and_ gave me a tactical compliment. Four points to Nara."

"Lies."

"No. Endgame. I win. You lose."

"I never lose." Spoken with the usual rock solid certainty, which made Neji's next words all the more shocking. "But sometimes I wonder if I'm destined to."

Like a rug pulled out from under their feet, all humour yanked away – leaving slippery ground and stunned silence. The speed at which the mood changed left Shikamaru momentarily floundering.

_Destiny…?_

A chill settled in his blood. Destiny was always an ambivalent topic, especially when it came to Neji. The shadow-nin looked across, his eyes pinching warily.

Neji's features had sobered into an odd arrangement caught somewhere between confusion and growing consternation. He was glaring at the restraints haloing his wrists, the muscles in his jaw bunching hard.

"Get them off."

_Oh hell…_

Shikamaru raised a hand in peace. "They're coming off. Just need to wait for Ino to get the paperwork done. Then we can bust you outta here, okay?"

Neji's gaze cut up and sliced over Shikamaru's face, searching for deception. A tense silence entrenched itself between them. Shikamaru felt it crawling over his skin, saw it manifest in the strain that pulled across Neji's arms and the backs of his hands, angry tendons and rigid sinew.

_Not good…_

Shikamaru kept his open palms in view. "Relax," he said softly, mind whirring over all the ways he could avoid a scene. He hadn't actually stopped to consider _how_ he'd transport Neji from point A to point B.

_Now would be the time to work it out._

He shuttered his eyes, scrolling inwards to assess his chakra strength, surprised to find it purring through his system in a vibratory tingle. Apparently Ino's chakra pill had done the trick. Still, it was borrowed energy, a stimulant working through his system. He'd need to be careful.

_Looks like it's gonna be another shadow possession…_

That would work. Neji was too drugged to put up much of a fight, or at least not a focused one. Shikamaru could overpower that easy, walk Neji to the nearest safe haven and get him to sleep it off.

_Easy as pie…_

Yeah, in theory. And not the best idiom considering he couldn't bake for shit.

_It'll work._

It had to.

He felt Neji's gaze on him, opened his eyes to find those two moonstone orbs drifting over his face, brows tugging together.

"If they find out…they'll use it against me…" Neji said.

Frowning slightly, Shikamaru clasped his hands at the edge of the bed and leaned forward a little, his voice soft, hesitant. "What're you talking about?"

Neji drew away at the proximity, fingers curling into fists against the sheets, biceps tensing, forearms rigid as iron bars. He watched Shikamaru in a state of flux, confusion tearing at the corners of his expression.

The lost look ripped through Shikamaru, cut him deep. "Neji…?"

The doors to the recovery room swung open.

Shikamaru came out of his seat in a start, poked his head around the curtain.

Ino came striding down the aisle, wrists rolling, head turned, talking to one of the two orderlies accompanying her. She paused halfway and nodded to Shikamaru, signalling with thumbs up. "We're all set, shirker. You ready?"

Shikamaru glanced back at Neji, met the Hyūga's too-bright eyes and forced a smile to keep from wincing. "Don't give me trouble, yeah?"

Neji narrowed his gaze, white orbs contracting with the barest hint of a pupil as the skin around his temples tightened, veins knotting and spreading to the far corners of his eyes.

The restraints rattled.

_Oh HELL…_

By the time the orderlies rounded the curtain, Shikamaru's shadow had already moved.

* * *

"_SCATTER!"_

The mental command boomed out among the operatives. They broke formation, regrouped, circled around to press their attack.

"Inoichi!"

Inoichi turned, staggered under the force of a blow to his stomach, flowed with the momentum into a backwards roll and came up onto his feet, back-pedalling fast, his fingers locked in a seal. _"Shinran Enbu no Jutsu!"_

The horned beast slammed to a halt inches from impact, gouging trenches in the earth with its huge canine paws. It stood dazed, wreathes of rotten breath streaming from its open jaws.

Inoichi had no time to catch his breath.

A yowl exploded from behind.

Springing forwards, he vaulted over the beast held in mental thrall, using its body as a living shield. A massive scorpion stinger pounded into the side of the horned giant and its animal howl went up in Inoichi's mind like a siren.

"_Kageyose no Jutsu!"_

A fluttering overhead, like the wings of tiny birds. Inoichi looked up, saw a swarm of explosive tags attached to a string of shadow. The attack sailed like a kite.

A strangled roar.

The spit and hiss of paper set alight.

"DOWN!"

The explosion rocked the clearing in a heat wave.

Inoichi heard the reverberating clang of Chōza's armour, saw the Akimichi's giant forearm shielding a group of ninja from the blast. Fire went up, the shadows danced and Inoichi had to smile.

_"Anything to get your kicks, huh?"_

_"I got out of bed for this. I was getting my kicks just fine."_

Grinning at the Nara's dry response, Inoichi jumped clear of the collapsed monster that'd shielded him and scanned the clearing, watching several Jōnin and a band of ANBU operatives move in concert to corner and slaughter the remaining stinger-cats. Blood had turned the earth a fetid red, bowels, brains, bones and bits of _kami _knew what else were scattered around them like an upturned waste pit.

God what a mess. Kusagakure had some explaining to do.

Movement out the corner of his eye.

"_Shikaku. Pissed off lizard-bird-thing. To your left."_

The Nara dropped down like a spider from a web-work of shadows, kicking off the roasted carapace of the stinger-cat he'd blown to smoking hell. The lizard-bird came charging towards him in full glare of the moonlight, it's shadow thrown behind rather than ahead. Out of reach.

"_Shit. Fall back, Shikaku."_

Shikaku hopped a pace to his left, positioned himself directly in line with the oncoming attack. He didn't move.

Inoichi's heart leapt into his throat.

"_SHIKAKU!"_

_"Relax. Trust me."_

Crouching, Shikaku launched into a dead run, picking up velocity, lengthening his strides until he was bounding in the sleek, controlled leaps that a long-jump athlete would take.

Inoichi could only watch in amazement. He'd seen this wild-card move before, but not in years. It was a _taijutsu_ style developed by the Nara, inspired by the bounding movements of their deer.

As the lizard-bird extended its serpentine neck, diving in for the kill, Shikaku kicked off his foot and sailed straight over the monster's ducked spine, the heels of his feet coming down to crash directly onto the beast's shadow, connecting them in an instant as he went skidding along.

Inoichi huffed out a laugh, sent a psychic nudge across the distance. _"Show-off."_

"_I'm getting too old for this shit," _Shikaku returned, mummifying the monster in strips of shadow, crushing the life out of it. _"Get a sitrep from ANBU. Surprised they're even out here."_

Nodding, Inoichi turned away from the gruesome scene. He searched the crowd of cloaked shinobi, his gaze hitting on one masked operative whose hood had fallen back, revealing a high ponytail of auburn hair.

Inoichi's eyes widened then narrowed. He sent out a mental prod. "_You_."

The ANBU operative paused, turned towards the Yamanaka, amber irises gazing impassively through the round eyeholes of the mask.

Inoichi raised his chin, crooked a finger.

The operative stood motionless for a moment, as if debating, then stepped over. Inoichi met him halfway, reached out a hand and brushed aside the lapel of the dark cloak, saw the short black jacket with the red straps across the shoulders.

_ROOT._

And not just any ROOT member.

Sighing, Inoichi drew his hand back. "What the hell are you doing here, Fū?"

"I will answer as I must."

The standard ANBU stonewall. There was no getting through it – especially where ROOT was concerned.

"Danzō," Inoichi growled the name, smacked his lips at the sour aftertaste. He gazed at the masked man, further irked by the knowledge that this shinobi used to be one of his clansmen, drafted long ago into the darkest bowels of Konoha's underbelly.

_He wasn't the only one…_

Closing his eyes briefly against the stab of regret, he pinned the other Yamanaka with a steely glare. "Why is ROOT sniffing around this operation?"

A pointless question, considering the sinking feeling in his gut, one that hinted at an answer he didn't want to consider. While he wasn't surprised that these chimaera abominations had drawn ROOT like sharks to blood, he _was_ surprised this paramilitary unit had the audacity to get involved without his knowing about it. They had no right to butt in. That wasn't the deal he'd made. But then, he should've suspected no less from Danzō.

_Don't suspect. Speculation is useless. Get the facts._

"Answer my question," Inoichi growled.

Fū said nothing. He was not at liberty to speak, much less stand here entertaining demands from anyone other than his scheming overlord.

But he wasn't walking away either – and that unnerved Inoichi far more than the silence.

_Walk away. Walk away and let this rock in my gut be nothing more than my over-active imagination…_

There was imagination and then there was instinct. They lived in very different places. And every second forced Inoichi's mind into the latter zone, feeding it, fuelling it, firing up the smothered ashes of the past.

_That's enough._

He didn't lend his mind to guesswork or probabilities. That was Shikaku's area. His was evidence, data and hard facts. He almost regretted not using more invasive ways to get the information he needed. A shame he wasn't more ruthless with his morals. Ibiki had often mocked him for his 'codes of conduct'. But Fū was still Inoichi's kin, even if the emotionless young man had no loyalties and no ties other than the chains that bound him to Danzō.

_That bastard._

"Any suspicious activity involving Kusagakure is _my_ territory," Inoichi grated. "Danzō knows that. There's no reason why you or any other ROOT operative should be here."

"There is reason."

_"What_ reason?"

Fū grunted. "I will answer as I must."

Just when Inoichi suspected that this answer would be an outright refusal, Fū jerked his chin, motioning over Inoichi's shoulder in nonverbal reply.

Frowning, Inoichi turned and followed the direction of Fū's gaze.

His breath faltered to a halt, right behind his heart.

Fū was staring at Shikaku.

The Nara stood off to one side, checking an injury on Chōza's shoulder before he clapped the Akimichi solidly on the back, laughing at whatever his friend rumbled in response to the rough treatment.

"Now you know why I am here," Fū said.

Inoichi's throat tightened. He felt sick, had to press a fist to his gut.

"You are summoned, Yamanaka-san," Fū said. "The ghosts are gathering. You understand."

A chill breeze crept through the leaves, its cold rustle stealing across the whisky-hoarse warmth of Shikaku's laughter.

Inoichi's eyes drifted shut in misery. "I understand."

* * *

The plan had been simple. Stupid simple. Point A to point B.

_Easy as pie._

Yeah, pie baked in a blown-out oven shot to hell.

Shikamaru grimaced and veered down another lantern-lit alley to avoid the main thoroughfare. Sweat slicked his skin and the muscles in his thighs burned as if he'd been wading through water, fighting against a current.

Well, no exaggeration there.

Neji was still fighting him every step of the way.

_Stubborn bastard._

Shikamaru shot a glare over his shoulder, panting. "This would be so much easier if you'd just quit digging your heels in and relax."

Neji's nostrils flared, head tossing like a roped stallion, his dark mane loose around his shoulders. "How dare you drag me around like some rabid animal," he snarled.

"Your words, not mine."

Truth to tell, it wasn't a bad assessment given Neji's feral mood swing and sudden abundance of energy. The narcotics should've set the Hyūga on his ass. He'd been drowsy and disoriented earlier, but the second Shikamaru had shadow possessed him it was like he'd been given a shot of adrenaline. What was it Ino had said? Something about stress hormones shooting through the roof?

_Whatever…ugh…such a damn drag…_

Sighing, Shikamaru all but towed them to the end of the alley and stopped to catch his breath, leaning into the back wall of a _dango _restaurant, every gasp filled with the sweet smelling scents of starch and syrup.

Underlying all this was the prevalent stink of chemical soap.

_I'm sweating bleach…this can't be good…_

How many god-damned showers was he going to be forced to take tonight?

Glancing skyward, Shikamaru calculated how much moonlight he had left between the drifts of cloud. While the sky was mostly clear, mist hung in low lacy frills close to the distant treeline that divided the Akimichi and Nara residences. A walk through those woods would eventually lead to the Nara forest.

_No way._

Taking Neji to his home wasn't an option.

_It's a worst case scenario._

His mother would have a conniption if she found out what he'd done. He wouldn't put it past Neji to blurt out the whole blaze-of-glory fail with a smile on his face and a song in his heart.

_Not happening._

An inn was the safest bet. Somewhere cheap and low-key. He craned his neck, gazed down a side street wreathed with hanging lanterns and lined with a motley strip of shops, their _noren_ curtains flapping. He knew a place along here; had once put Temari up in it during the Chūnin exams.

_That'll do._

Point B marked on the mental map, he turned his head to examine his charge. Standing rigid in the lantern light, every tense contour deepened by shadow, Neji practically steamed. Chakra and tension radiated off him in a palpable hum. He was clad in borrowed clothes – courtesy of Ino having ransacked Shikamaru's wardrobe – that clung a little tight to his broader frame, a pair of old black slacks and a charcoal crew-neck top. Sweat dampened the neck, spread in a dark 'v' down the ridge of chest.

_Least I'm not the only one suffering here…_

Puffing a breath, Shikamaru shook his head, trying to work out how the night had gone so horribly wrong. "And all I wanted was to go for a walk."

Neji scowled, his pale eyes tinged with a hint of confusion.

_Yeah, still not with it._

But lucid enough to realise he was being detained and forced against his will to move in a direction he didn't want to go. "I will not allow you to do this," the Hyūga uttered, the bridge of his nose wrinkling like the muzzle of a feral wolf.

Shikamaru frowned at the cold mistrust in those words, surprised at how much it stung. His shoulder came off the wall in an irritated shove. "Neji, what the hell is this about? You let me walk you into a god damned bloodbath and now you're putting up a fight over—"

"I will _not_ go into your forests."

That stopped Shikamaru short. Mouth still open, his brows drew together sharply. "Hah?"

Neji jerked his chin. "Your home. I'm not permitted."

Was he being funny? The glare suggested otherwise. Shikamaru squinted at him. "Uh. We're not going there. And even if we were…" he swept his hands down his body in demonstration. "I'm your walking travel permit."

"Your father forbade it."

Shikamaru blinked, drawing his head back. "My father?"

"He knows."

"Knows what?"

"What I did to you."

Shock, a brief moment of brain failure as his mind froze – that was all it took. His _jutsu_ wavered.

"_KAITEN!"_

Shikamaru jerked as a tide of blue-white chakra slammed into him, knocked him clean off his feet and thrust him up against the alley wall with a teeth-rattling crack.

He felt his skull connect, a burst of pain and concussive shock.

His vision cut out.

Darkness.

Panic flooded his system, followed by a rush of something stronger. Perspiration broke out across his skin. Chakra flared in a vibrant pulse, filled his head like two heartbeats, ran liquid fast through his meridians and congealed in the pit of his stomach, churned in a hot swirl; sudden, poisonous, _powerful_, a giddying pressure filling him up, reverberating in his bones and quivering through his muscles like the building shivers of an orgasm.

"_Show me your nature."_

Conscious thought collapsed.

Shikamaru's eyes rolled back, his body jolting as the pressure burst.

Chakra exploded from the nexus of his shadow, a nest of black tendrils. Lashing out, they flayed across Neji's chest like the thongs of a whip, drawing blood and pitching the Jōnin into the air. He crashed into a rickshaw stacked with bags of rice flour, sending up a white mushroom cloud.

Snapping like vipers, the shadow tendrils came together, stretched out into a monstrous shadow-hand, the black fingers sharpening into needle points ready to slash, stab, slaughter.

"_We're all of us animals, Shika."_

_"HEY! Focus! Come back _here. _Look at me, Shikamaru!"_

_Asuma?_

Shikamaru's eyes snapped open.

The darkness imploded and the shadows sucked backwards like liquid up a straw. Reality slammed back into his brain, rocking the foundations, shattering the black and all memory of its presence.

_Breathe!_

Gasping, he sagged against the wall, felt his feet almost go out from under him. But the rush of strength came full circle, riding back up along his legs into his dazed brain, bringing him back from the near blackout.

_Blackout?_

Grimacing, he reached back a hand, felt around his skull for any blood, knew there'd be some bruising. Quite a knock, to have dazed him that bad. He was pretty sure he'd checked out for a second. But he felt oddly empowered…roused…heightened…

_The chakra pill?_

He didn't have time to make sense of it.

Neji had regained his feet.

_Regained?_

When the hell had he fallen? Had the _kaiten _backfired? Not hard to believe, considering Neji wasn't stable enough to control or coordinate a _ninjutsu_ attack right now. Not that being unstable had ever stopped him in the past.

_Better be careful._

Shikamaru flattened himself against the wall and looked over, eyes going wide.

_You've gotta be kidding…_

Neji stood caked head to toe in white powder, a glowing spectre in the moonlight, looking like some vengeful ghost unable to comprehend his ridiculous and far-from-terrifying manifestation.

A laugh caught in Shikamaru's throat, unbidden and nervous. "Shit."

Blinking, Neji raised his hands slowly, turned them this way and that, rice flour dusting off him in snowy drifts, plastered into all the creases of his scowl. "I don't believe it."

Neither could Shikamaru, which didn't take the edge off his amusement. Of all the things he could've predicted. Could this night get any more humiliating for either of them?

"Hey, you just fly-swatted my ass into a _wall,_ Hyūga," the shadow-nin defended, pushing away from the brick with a wince. "Least you got a soft landing."

And then he saw the blood.

Shikamaru stopped smiling, closed the distance in three long strides.

Neji was too busy patting powder from his arms to bother about the ripped top and the lacerations across his chest. "First that _plant_. And now th—"

Shikamaru took hold of Neji's shoulder, splayed his other hand over the Hyūga's chest, felt the warmth of blood against his palm and paled. "What the hell happened?"

Snorting, Neji slapped his hand away, unperturbed by the blood and the stricken look on Shikamaru's face. He ruffled his fingers through his bangs, sent a cloud of flour up into the air. "Why does this keep happening to me?" he growled. "I don't understand."

_Neither do I…_

Shikamaru was staring at the blood on his hand.

It didn't make sense…how was Neji _bleeding_? He looked back up, studied the slashes across the Hyūga's chest. They looked like they'd been inflicted by the crack of a barbed whip or the claws of an animal.

_No way. HOW?_

He looked across at the collapsed rickshaw, scanned the jagged edges of the splintered wood, working a quick forensic analysis. No blood on the immediate planks and even if there had been that didn't explain how the cuts could be so consecutive.

_It's impossible. There's just no way…_

But here was the evidence, glistening against his fingers, black as oil in the moonlight, fuelling a cold and nauseating burn in Shikamaru's gut.

"I have unfinished business with my enemy," Neji announced, his deep voice echoing off the walls. "Goodnight, Nara."

_Wait. What?_

Looking up, the shadow-nin discovered Neji had already turned and was currently weaving his way back down the alleyway, arms outstretched to either side, flurries of powder trailing behind him like some mystical shroud.

Shoving aside the confusion and questions, Shikamaru started after the other ninja, hopping over the upturned sacks and shattered rickshaw, jogging to catch up.

"Hold up, Hyūga. You can barely walk straight. You're _not _going back for round two with that stupid flower."

The Hyūga whirled on him and staggered sideways. "What are you talking about? I'm going straight back to the Hyūga compound."

"You're going _home_?"

"That is what I said."

Shikamaru grabbed Neji's shoulders to steady him, ducking his head to try and catch the glazed eyes. "Neji, you just said you had unfinished business with your enemy."

White eyes blinked back at him. "That is correct."

An image of broken family portraits came to mind, leaving Shikamaru to wonder which Hyūga member Neji wanted to scratch out of picture. He didn't even want to consider how Hyūga Hiashi would react to that.

"Shit," he sighed, shaking his head. "You can't go home like this, Neji."

Grunting, Neji looked off to the side and seemed to reconsider. "Do I look pale to you?"

Blinking wide, Shikamaru had to press his lips to contain himself. He somehow managed to keep his face straight and his voice level. "You know how much restraint it's taking for me not to run with that? You're really putting yourself in the line of fire tonight, huh?"

"So are you," Neji returned. "I'm about to vomit."

Shikamaru swerved just in time, twisting out the way as Neji bowled forward and retched, slapping a palm up against the wall. A wet splash and a choked attempt to catch air, followed by the violent contraction of spine and the abrupt folding of legs. Neji dropped into a crouch, both hands against the wall, head bowed and dark hair swinging down over one shoulder like a veil, shielding his face.

Shikamaru took a step forward, stopped.

Another shudder through the broad shoulders and Neji gagged again, folding over.

Resisting the urge to move closer, Shikamaru looked on quietly, his face pinched in sympathy but also a kind of guilty relief.

"…_the worst he can suspect after the opiate wears off is some major queasiness."_

Well, at least the opiates were on their way out. He waited another moment before approaching. "Neji," he called, brushing his fingers in a tentative sweep against the back of the Hyūga's head, hesitating when Neji stiffened against the touch.

He let his hand hover, waited.

A few tense beats passed, both ninja anticipating another lurch and heave.

An icy wind blustered down the narrow streets, rocking lanterns on their hooks, stirring Neji's bangs and chasing a prickle across Shikamaru's skin. The Nara counted thirty seconds by the time Neji finally relaxed, sagging forwards.

He tapped his brow to the brick with a dull clang, his deep groan rumbling along the wall. "This night…is long…"

Smiling slightly, Shikamaru slipped his fingers through the powdery mocha strands and crouched down on the balls of his feet, ready to spring back if needs be. "Then let's call it quits, okay? You just kicked my ass into a wall and you did a number on that rickshaw. You win. I lose. Now will you let me take you some place you can rest and I can pass out?"

Neji's head came away from the wall sharply. "Rest...?"

"Yeah. Rest." Shikamaru wavered, rubbed his hand over Neji's back. "Sounds good, right?"

"Every time…" Neji whispered, shaking his head, _hitai-ate_ scraping back and forth across the brick. "God…I _can't_."

"Can't?"

"I can't…not again…not now…not when I'm so close…"

Frowning at the rough words and not really following their meaning, Shikamaru pressed Neji's nape with gentle fingers. "Yeah you can. And now's as good a time as ever. You're wiped. You need to crash and so do I. Trust me, alright? I know a little something about catching naps." Straightening up, he folded his fingers into the appropriate seal, joining their shadows. "Now relax. I'm just gonna help you along, okay? No pushing, no pulling and no plastering me against any walls, okay?"

Neji said nothing. But he didn't resist.

In fact, by the time Shikamaru had walked them through the door of the new-style _ryokan_ mapped as point B, the Hyūga had ceded all control, allowing Shikamaru to deal with the bewildered concierge who booked them in and guided them down a dimly lit hallway towards a twin room on the first floor.

Shikamaru released the _jutsu_ the second the door clicked shut.

Neji swayed forwards.

Shikamaru caught the Jōnin against his back and slid one of the Hyūga's arms over his shoulders, leading Neji towards the bathroom. "If you throw up on me, I'm gonna drop you on the floor and kick you in your adamantine head."

Neji grunted something unintelligible beneath his breath.

Smirking, Shikamaru angled them sideways through the doorway, flipped the light switch and set Neji against the sink counter. "Better clean up those cuts. How'd that happen anyway?"

White eyes shot up, along with the flat of Neji's palm.

At point-blank range, the chest slam pitched Shikamaru clean out the bathroom and straight onto his back. Winded, he rolled onto an elbow, glaring back up at the silhouette standing in the doorway. "What the hell was that for?!"

Neji smirked, slammed the door shut.

The shower blasted on.

Grumbling, Shikamaru slouched back against the floor, taking in the room's dimly lit interior. The modern and the traditional merged in an odd but agreeable harmony. Pale plaster walls in place of _shoji _screens and a small TV in the _tokonoma_ rather than the traditional scroll painting or _ikebana _display. To one side of the room a set of glass panes stood instead of _fusuma _panels, giving a serene and leafy view of a private maple garden. A mossy plinth stood close to the veranda, displaying a statue of Kwan Yin, her palms pressed together, lips tucked in that enigmatic smile. Similar, but not quite like the effigy back home.

"_Your home. I'm not permitted."_

Shikamaru sucked a breath and sat up, the sudden tightness in his chest in no way related to the shove he'd just taken. He felt the cramp go deeper, right into his core, a cold fist twisting his insides at the thought of what Neji had said earlier.

"_My father?"_

"_He knows."_

"_Knows what?"_

"_What I did to you."_

How? There's no way that could be true. His old man would've said something. Done something.

_Has he? Did he?_

And if he knew what Neji had done, not having ever let on...then what the hell _else_ did he know?

Swallowing hard, Shikamaru's face turned twice as pale as the lifeless statue. Dread sank deep into the pit of his stomach, sent out cold ripples of fear – fear that spread in an unseen shiver to the far corners of the room, stirring the darkest shadows.

* * *

Darkness, complete and consummate and all around...

He hung suspended, a fly caught in a cobweb, his body manacled but not by chains, not by leather, not by the padded cuffs they'd strapped him down with in the hospital. No. These shackles were black – without texture but not without substance – strange dark vines winding around his wrists, his waist, his thighs and ankles.

_Where am I?_

"Reacquaint yourself with the control I _let_ you keep."

Neji knew the words, but not the voice. It wasn't Ibiki's deep baritone.

_Then who?_

"Don't you know?"

Fingers carved through his hair, picked his head up from its drowsy nod. His lashes fluttered open but all that swam before his eyes were shadows and silhouettes.

_Where am I?_

"Where do you want to be?" the disembodied voice purred, low, male, but its tonal inflections were as fleeting and whisper-thin as smoke, impossible to decipher an accent, a cadence, a timbre,_ anything_.

Lips grazed across his cheekbone, then teeth.

Neji jerked away, felt something tighten around his neck. A hand shot up to grip his jaw, yanked his face back.

"Do turn the other cheek, Neji," the voice snarled. "I'm inclined to balance this insolent head of yours."

Hyūga Hitaro's words. But not his voice.

Confounded, Neji tried to move, felt the restraints tighten, cutting off his circulation until a pins and needles pressure began to build in his hands and legs.

_Impossible. Why can't I…?_

"Ball-and-chain, Neji."

_Asuma…?_

The hands slipped away from his skin. A black-garbed figure circled him, seemed to pass through the hanging restraints like a ghost, unshackled and uninhibited by the darkness. But there was nothing solid, nothing certain.

"Because you have nothing. Nothing left. Nothing to surrender. Nothing and no one to give up."

_Kakashi._

Neji tried again to move, winced at the pain, unable to gain even a little leeway.

_Am I still in Ibiki's genjutsu? Did I ever leave? Why am I still here?_

"You attacked my son."

Neji's breath blast out in shock, but before his brain could hurtle into panic the _sound_ of the voice brought his mind to a grinding halt. Again. It was Shikaku's words, but _not _his voice.

"Or _was_ it you who attacked him?" the voice came again. "Inquiring minds wanna know."

_What the hell are you talking about?_

"Bodies talk too." A shiver of breath against Neji's shoulder-blade, a palm ghosting up his spine, winding in his hair, pulling it aside. "Your words. Not mine."

"_Who_ are y—!" Neji's snarl cut off in a gasp as lips closed around the sensitive vertebrae at the back of his neck, teeth sinking in.

Pleasure scorched through him, not localised to the blind spot, spreading like rays.

He lurched against the restraints, felt the low breathy chuckle fan across the junction of his neck and shoulder, followed by the wet stroke of a tongue. "You're weak when you're with me. You always were. You always will be."

Neji's eyes pinched in confusion, his breath shattering out, arousal overlapping anger, anger overlapping reason. He shook his head, tried to focus, felt the black bindings loosening around him, ribboning down his arms and legs in a flutter. Caressing, coaxing…

_Controlling…_

Control.

Mind screaming, Neji's muscles bunched and knotted in battle, availing him nothing – but the paralysis he felt was no longer due to the tendrils snaking around his naked body, enflaming his skin, tangling his senses in vines of dark desire before drawing him down, laying him flat.

_No…this isn't real…this is just in my mind…_

And then he felt those tendrils winding around the granite muscles of his thighs, drawing his legs apart like two solid marble doors, his resistance causing bones to creak and vessels to burst, drawing blood and bruises in the effort. He could sense a presence hovering close, feel the burn of eyes raking over his skin.

_Whoever you are, I'm going to fucking rip you apart…_

"A poor choice of words," the darkness purred. "Especially now that I have you _beneath _me."

Neji's eyes flew wide; _his_ words. Words he'd said to…

_Oh god no…_

And then the darkness in front of his eyes melted back, flowed like oil over the hard lean ridges of a sharply-honed body, slipping in a slow bleed across olive skin, smoothing back over torso, hips and thighs as the figure descended on him, resolving itself as if from black water.

Neji's blood turned to ice. "Shikamaru..."

Obsidian eyes gazed down at him, reflecting nothing back but Neji's own face. The shadow-nin's lips curled in a slow, nasty smile. "Rip into my scars, huh? I don't think you ever wanted to make me burn, Hyūga…you just wanted to make me bleed."

Stunned, Neji could only stare, hypnotised by the horror of the words, by the horror of the _voice_ as it took on its familiar smoky nuances and its dry and easy drawl, rushing over his skin like ashes and smoke.

_This isn't real…_

"Dreams don't feel this way, do they?"

Neji's heart throbbed. More of his own words thrown back at him, flowing cold from those smirking lips, chewed up and spat out – completely out of context, completely out of control, completely out of…

_You're not Shikamaru…_

A dark brow flicked up, the gesture so familiar yet so horribly out of place. "No? I'm doing exactly what he did to you," the shadow-nin taunted, leaning down, bringing their hips together with a slow grind. "Taking what he _took _from you."

Neji's breath rattled at the friction, fingers snapping into fists. "He took what I _gave _him. Because I _chose_ to give it."

"Oh _yeah_," Shikamaru breathed, leaning down, a lewd smile twisting his lips. "You gave it alright. But that's not all you wanted to give me was it?" He stroked his fingers down along the inside of Neji's thigh, arched a thumb and stroked the rough pad along the underside of the Hyūga's swollen length, dragging his touch through the moist slit. "You wanted to _give_ as good as you got, didn't you?"

"Not like this," Neji uttered through his teeth, straining against the shadows as they wound tighter, moving like black boas, causing his blood to hiss and spit. "Never like this."

"No?" Shikamaru raised his hand, sucked the salty cream from his thumb. "I can taste how much you want me."

"Not like this."

"Then how do you want me, Neji? Like _this_?"

The shadows slackened, slipped away, reversed their flow and switched their target, snaking up along Shikamaru's arms and around his body, tearing him off Neji and up onto his knees, lashing around his throat, his wrists, his thighs, binding him so tight they sliced into his flesh, sawing skin, drawing blood, squeezing breath…

"_Stop it, Shikamaru!_" Neji screamed the words but they made no sound. He tried to move, found he couldn't even though he'd been freed. No. An illusion of freedom. He was paralysed, powerless, unable to…

_Protect…_

"_Protect_?" Shikamaru spat the word, his voice thinning into a choked rasp as the shadows tightened around his throat. "The same as when you were a child, wanting nothing more than to _protect_ something you could never hope to save."

Those words – Hitaro's words – whipped across Neji's heart like the shadow tendril that lashed across Shikamaru's face, splitting the taut skin across his cheekbone.

Blood spattered across Neji's stomach…

_STOP!_

The darkness swelled, strengthened, came alive with sudden sentience, feeding off his fear, his panic, his pain. "Choose," the darkness boomed, speaking in so many tongues it was a warped garble of voices. "What will you choose? Your precious freedom or your greatest weakness? The nothingness you seek or the need you can't surrender?"

_ENOUGH!_

"Choose _NOW_."

Two black shadow hands slid around Shikamaru's hips, gliding down to caress the Nara's skin with the mocking touches of a lover even as the black rope around his neck tightened, strangling his breath, draining the life out of his dark and distant eyes…

Neji roared into the black.

_LET ME GO! LET ME—_

"Save him?" the shadow-nin gasped, his words and voice eclipsed by the sound of Neji's _own_ voice, his _own_ words, croaking out from the shadow-nin's blue and lifeless lips. "You can't save someone, who doesn't want to be helped."

_SHIKAMARU!_

"Fool," the darkness laughed. "Is that your choice?"

* * *

Louder than a psychic shout, Neji's scream broke through all five levels of sleep and jarred Shikamaru into flailing consciousness. Jerking awake, both arms and feet coming up off the bed, the shadow-nin instinctively rolled and went crashing to the floor.

_Arrgh…_

Pain sang along his arm, dulled the alarms blaring in his head. "God dammit…" he growled, shaking the fuzz from his brain until he registered what had woken him.

_Neji._

Cursing, he rocked onto his knees and popped his head up like a gopher, scanning the room until his gaze hit upon the back of Neji's head. The Hyūga sat rigid at the edge of the opposite bed, head planted in his hands, breathing hard, clearly shaken.

On instant alert, Shikamaru shot to his feet and rounded the bed. "Neji?"

Neji lurched to his feet, a drunken and disoriented movement, slashing his arm out in warning. "Don't."

Shikamaru halted, palms up, eyes wide. "Okay," he murmured. "Alright."

_Not okay. Not alright._

The Hyūga staggered back a step, wide eyes casting around, searching the corners of the room. Shikamaru watched him warily, hands still up, body tilted back. Was Neji still delirious? How long had he been out? In fact, how long had _both_ of them been out? Shikamaru shot a quick glance at the window and saw the moon still riding high, but the sky seemed paler. It couldn't have been more than a half hour max since his head had hit the pillow.

He'd waited for Neji to collapse onto the opposite bed before letting sleep take him. It had come fast, stealing over his brain, stopping the mental wheels from spinning into orbit over what Neji had mentioned about his father.

_Deal with that later._

His attention shifted back to Neji. The Hyūga stood glaring into far corner of the room, shirtless and sleep-tousled, his normal mien of steely control obliterated by something far more savage and uncertain. The cuts across his chest had been cleaned and patched, a few dots of blood speckling across the gauze strips.

No need for any more damage tonight…

Weighing up the unpredictability of the situation, Shikamaru tried again. "Neji."

At the call of his name, Neji broke from his trance, whirled around.

Their gazes brushed, didn't quite connect. Neji still wasn't with it, not fully, his eyes narrowing on Shikamaru as if trying to decipher something. "Shikamaru?"

The question knocked Shikamaru's head back a notch. He gave a bemused smile to keep the concern at bay, spread his hands a little further. "Well observed, Hyūga."

For a long tortured second Neji stared at him without moving, his body taking on the unerring stillness of an animal under threat – or one about to pounce.

Gut clenching, Shikamaru beat back the urge to retreat. "Neji?"

No lunge, no leap and violent bound.

The tension went out of the Hyūga's frame and Neji sat heavily at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, fingers dragging back across his scalp. "_Kami_…" he whispered.

Shikamaru's breath caught.

_To hell with it._

Abandoning safety, he advanced a half-step at a time. Neji made no move to stop him, made no response at all to signal that he felt threatened or aggressive.

Relieved, Shikamaru closed the final pace and crouched down in front of the Jōnin, concern knitting his brows. "Talk to me, Neji."

Almost immediately, soft lunar eyes drifted up, stroked over Shikamaru's face with such confused desperation that the shadow-nin was at a total loss at how to respond. He searched Neji's face, saw the questions and the uncertainty burning there but didn't understand what was being asked.

"What?" Shikamaru husked. "What is it? What's w—" his words died in his throat when Neji's fingers grazed across his cheek bone, the pale digits flinching as if they'd touched ice where they'd thought to find fire.

"Cruel…" Neji uttered, face twisting with some unnameable emotion. "They can ruin my mind. Make it unearth my past. Use my father against me. Humiliate me. Take away my control. But to torment me with…?" He shook his head and the soft swish of his bangs sent shadows sweeping across his face. "God, _why_?"

How one word could rip open so many old wounds, and tear open so many new ones.

_Why?_

Shikamaru locked his jaw, swallowed hard against the crippling pain in his throat and focused on interpreting, not intuiting; thinking, not feeling.

_Dream, nightmare, crazy thoughts._

He should've suspected the opiates would turn Neji's dreams into a psychedelic mess, disturbing him enough to make him think he was losing his mind.

"It's okay," Shikamaru soothed, folding his fingers loosely around Neji's wrist, feeling the trip-hammer of the pulse. "You're not losing your mind. You're not losing control. It's just the opiates doing their thing. It's just got you confused. It'll pass, I promise. It's nothing."

"_Nothing_…I'm supposed to have nothing left…" Neji twisted his wrist from Shikamaru's loose grip and caressed the side of the shadow-nin's face, as softly as if he were touching a ghost; as if afraid his palm might pass straight through the illusion and shatter it. "Nothing to surrender, nothing to give up…but if they knew that I..._No_, I can't abide it…" his voice thickened, shook. "I _can't_."

Not understanding anything but the growing ache in his chest, Shikamaru shook his head wordlessly, trying to think what to say, what to _do _to fix the splintered feeling taking hold, cracking up the boundaries, making it harder to breathe and even harder to break away from Neji's touch.

_Stop. Don't do this. Not now. Not again. Get a grip._

Instinctively he reached for Neji to find that lifeline, gripping the Hyūga's nape and squeezing hard, not sure which one of them he was trying to get grounded. "Neji, whatever it is, whatever you've got going on, it's just fear talking right now. You'll overcome it. You always do."

"Because I've always had to."

"No, because you've always _chosen_ to."

"_Choice_." Neji spat, shuddering. "What does _choice_ matter if I can't save my...if I can't _protect_ my…my freedom…" he wavered on the last word, went rigid at the hesitation, a look of wild confusion tearing across his face, breaking into his voice. "_Kami_…it _has_ to be my freedom…" Startled, those moonstone eyes flashed up, hit squarely on Shikamaru's face and then bounced away as if burned. "It has to be." Panic and comprehension dawned, rose behind the fog in his gaze like the struggling light of a dying sun. "It has to be…" he chanted, labouring over the effort, his breaths coming harder. "It _has _to be."

Swallowing the breath locked in his throat, Shikamaru looked on helplessly. Shit, what the hell had Neji dreamt to have shaken him this badly? The 'they' Neji had mentioned could've referred to anyone, though the shadow-nin suspected two parties. The Hyūga elders or-

_ANBU…_

Shikamaru stiffened, felt a shiver go through him, followed by a hot flood of anger, eyes darkening, jaw tightening, holding back the words crowding in his throat.

_You crazy bastard. Did you do it? Did you take their offer? Did you sign your life away?_

He balled a fist, felt the vicious urge to swing it.

But then his gaze fixed again on the conflict ripping through Neji's eyes.

His fingers loosened, the anger unravelling its fiery coils. In that moment, despite his anger, despite his pain, he wanted nothing more than to reach into the Hyūga's mind and pull out the demons. Make it stop. Make it all go away. But all he could do was thread his fingers through Neji's hair, grip that stubborn head and tap their brows together.

"Sssh. Neji." He paused, had to force himself to push out the words. "You'll do whatever's necessary. And you'll succeed. All leap and bound and fearless Hyūga crazy because—"

"I'm not afraid to die, Shikamaru."

And there it was…the sad and chilling words that flushed all the futile embers of anger out Shikamaru's blood, leaving him cold once more.

"_I'm not afraid to die, Shikamaru."_

A gutting truth Shikamaru had witnessed first-hand. And ever since the first time he'd felt it, the dread and sadness this truth inspired had sat like a cancer in the depths of his heart, never in remission despite the distance and the time he tried to put between them…it was always there, eating away at him every time his thoughts turned towards Neji and the path the Hyūga had chosen.

_ANBU…the cage you got to choose…right? Your freedom. Your coffin..._

"I'm not afraid," Neji said again. "Not of death…"

Dark eyes pressed shut. "Yeah," Shikamaru whispered. "And knowing that about you still scares the hell out of me, Neji."

"If that is true…"

"It's _true_," Shikamaru growled, fighting hard to keep his voice steady. But that treacherous burn in the back of his throat reached higher, stinging the backs of his eyes. He worked the muscles of his jaw, tried for smile, sadness soft in it. "Guess that's one hell of a score to Hyūga…" he husked. "You still tear me up."

Neji's eyes drifted up. He studied the shadow-nin for few breathless seconds, stroked his fingers across Shikamaru's lips, following the sad curve of his smile. "Then our scores are even, Shikamaru. Because feeling as I do about you still breaks me apart."

Shikamaru froze with a sharp intake of breath.

He should've pulled away the instant he heard those words. Should've veered them back towards humour, back towards steadier ground, back towards a safer place than these forbidden confessions were pulling them into. He should've stopped, retreated and run the hell away.

But he didn't do any of those things.

The second he tried to pull it back the longing pushed through stronger, puppeteering his body with unseen strings, drawing him forwards, his hands skimming onto the mattress either side of Neji's hips, body rising up, head moving down.

Opal eyes watched through a screen of lashes, a brief flicker of lucidity cutting like lightning behind the drugged haze. "You break me ap—"

Shikamaru slanted their mouths together, felt Neji's breath break against his lips. The sound stole his air, squeezed his heart and he gasped, stroked their open mouths in a slow caress, tongue feathering out to feed the burn, a touch of liquid fire across their lips.

"Breathe me," he sighed into the kiss, heard the command echoed back in a breathy groan the second their tongues touched, twined, thrust together.

_Because I still need you to…because this still kills me…and god…I still crave it…_

Lashes drifting shut, an expression of ecstasy chasing across his face, Shikamaru tilted his head and threaded his fingers back through Neji's hair, tugging to angle that swollen mouth directly beneath his, tongue dipping deep and retreating slow.

_More…_

Driven, Shikamaru dragged them onto the bed, planted his hands either side of Neji's head and shuddered powerfully, muscles rippling with the ache of an old fever, a deep malaise of yearning that burned, always, just beneath the surface of his skin. Just beneath the surface of every smile, every look, every fleeting moment…

_Need…_

He came alive with it. Hard and hot with it. Needing more than he could take, needing more than he could give.

_Give…_

Something had to give…god knows he couldn't…the last time he'd wanted to…

"_Do you want me deeper? Do you want to feel me inside you?"_

Fear fluttered up his throat, rattled softly in his breath.

Neji growled at the sound, caught Shikamaru's lip between his teeth and took control of the kiss, reaching up with both hands to frame the shadow-nin's face, drawing the Nara down as his tongue thrust up, a dominant glide of slick muscle, stroking deep and slow, hot and wet, imitating a far more erotic act that left Shikamaru swollen, breathless and on a blistering climb to orgasm – and just from a _kiss_.

_Damn…_

He tore his mouth away, gasping. He floundered for breath, stunned by the intensity of his body's reaction. When Neji's teeth scraped across his throat he ducked his head down, broke the contact. "You're…not thinking straight…"

_Hell, I'M not thinking straight…_

Sitting up against the headboard, Neji recovered faster, his breaths deepening, evening out. "I don't care."

"Ssh," Shikamaru hissed against his mouth, tapping their brows.

So fucking stupid, to start all over again what he knew he couldn't stop. It was one thing to want, to need, to dream, to _crave_…another thing entirely to _act _on it. To take it. To _give_ it.

_No._

A sudden chill took the edge off his arousal, a dose of cold sanity into fired-up blood and shut-down brain. He swept a lingering kiss between Neji's brows. "You will care…you'll sober up and you'll care a whole hell of a lot…you'll be pissed…and I'll be…"

_In stupid, pointless pieces…_

And he'd only just finished putting himself back together after Asuma…and even then…the breaks were still so…

_I can't…_

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Neji caught Shikamaru's chin before he could retreat, urged those eyes to open with a kiss across the shuttered lids. He studied the moist coffee-brown hues, the faintest of frowns pulling between his brows. "Talk to me, Shikamaru…"

The soft murmur moved through Shikamaru like a wave, dredging up ghosts, rolling over graves, washing up words that'd threatened grief he didn't have time enough or tears enough to suffer. It was too much too take, too much trouble to handle...

"_I can get out of any trouble I get myself in. I'm not scared of trouble."_

"_I'm not afraid to die, Shikamaru."_

"_At least I know you're not stupid enough to play into enemy hands and die. As your father, I'm grateful for that…I'm proud to be your father…but—"_

_"Don't sweat it. I'm not gonna be the sacrificial piece. I've got you with me after all."_

"—_Asuma is dead…"_

_Stop…_

"_Let it out, boy."_

His father's voice lanced his heart like a barbed spear.

_I don't know how...you never showed me...how...how to..._

Emotions welled up, cresting in his chest, his throat, his eyes. "I…"

"Shikamaru?"

He turned his lips against Neji's palm, his voice scraping out raw. "I know I said later…but later is still too soon…"

Neji cupped his jaw, grazed a thumb under the dark eye. "Look at me."

Swallowing hard, Shikamaru lifted his gaze, pain pulling at the corners of his eyes. "I can't go there, Neji. It's taking all I've got to keep my shit together right here and now with you…if I think about Asuma…" He paused, the muscles in his jaw flexing hard, dark lashes beating down against the burn. "I can't afford to do that. Not with this mission. Not when I need my head clear."

"This isn't just about, Asuma," Neji said softly, his thumb clamping over Shikamaru's lips to silence the immediate protest. "Don't." His eyes flickered again, that brief flash of clarity behind the haze. "Don't lie to me."

Lie? Hell, that should've been _easy_, immediate. But the lies were ash in Shikamaru's throat. Lifeless and useless to him because….

_How can I lie to you, when I don't even know what's real in my head?_ _I don't know…fuck I don't know…_

And Asuma wasn't there to help him make sense of it.

"_You're going to get through this. And I'm going to be right beside you."_

Only he wasn't. Wouldn't ever be again.

Shikamaru closed his eyes, felt Neji's thumbs at his temples, circling, circling…

_We're crappy liars, sensei. You and me both. But I'm not sorry for that…because we heard each other anyway…didn't we?_

Shit. If Asuma could hear him _now_…

Shame. It seeped in through the cracks, bitter and scalding. Shikamaru didn't even try to anesthetise it with logic. As Asuma had always told him, it wasn't about his head. In fact, it would be safer, saner, _smarter_ if it wasn't about him at all; not about his head, not about his hurt and sure as hell not about the place where he carried that pain and that confusion.

_Fuck it. I can't make my future about my past. I'll protect the children of this village with my life. I'll honour the will you bequeathed to me._

Here. Right here. That was where he needed to be.

_Because it's always gonna be too soon to go back to that place…_

Back to that fractured past he couldn't seem to shake.

"_However long it takes. I'm not going anywhere. I won't let you fall. I won't leave you alone in this."_

_But you_ did.

Neji's voice pulled him back. "Where are you, Nara?"

Shikamaru's lashes drifted open, unshed tears gleaming at the corners of his eyes. He cupped the back of Neji's head, gazed deep into the pale orbs. "I'm right here. Where I've always got to be…because if I let myself go where you're asking me to, I don't know if I'll come back."

Neji blinked slowly, cloud-like eyes drifting over Shikamaru's face. He brushed their noses, his voice a low soothing rumble. "You'll always come back."

Fear tightened around Shikamaru's throat. Swallowing roughly, his lips twisted in a rueful smile. "Yeah? And what makes you so sure?"

"Because I will always find you. As you found me."

Combers crashed and rolled, breaking over Shikamaru's heart, along with the answer to an undying question that'd haunted him for months.

_Did I ever find you?_

He screwed his eyes shut and pulled himself away, sitting at the side of the bed, head in his hands. "You don't know what you're saying, Neji…"

Would he even remember it come morning? That'd be a small mercy perhaps, that in a few hours' time this encounter might be nothing but a vague and hazy smudge in the Hyūga's mind…a drift of mist that'd burn away with the dawn.

_Vanishing into the ether, just like you…_

And perhaps that, too, was a small mercy – because running away from things he couldn't stand to face was one thing, but walking away from something he couldn't stand to leave? Well. Neji had always been the stronger one there. Had always been the one to walk away, because Shikamaru wouldn't, couldn't...at least not in the aftermath. Not once he'd started.

_Well done, genius…_

Besides, they had a mission coming up. Priorities dictated by duty, by necessity, just like Neji had said.

"…_this mission is an opportunity to prove that personal feelings and past transgressions have no hold over who we are now and what we have to do."_

_He's not wrong._

No. Neji wasn't wrong. Not where the mission mattered. Not where necessity mattered. But this wasn't a mission, it was a moment. It wasn't necessity, it was need. And it felt as right as it had ever been when time and circumstance weren't working against them.

Cool fingers brushed his nape. "Come here…"

Powerless against that voice, Shikamaru twisted around. Kneeling by the side of the bed he dropped his forehead against Neji's stomach and let the tension go out of his body in one long breath.

Neji's touch settled at the back of his neck, squeezed lightly.

There was silence for a time, the heat of the earlier moment withdrawing like lava into trembling cores, waiting for the next touch, the next taste, the next time around to break open all resistance and let the need come scorching forth…stronger than before.

_Always stronger than before._

Hell, he'd almost lost it over a kiss this time.

"Damn…" Shikamaru whispered against Neji's skin, a sad smile tilting his lips. "Here we go again, Hyūga…"

"I know…" Neji acknowledged, fingers kneading deep. And then, softer. "Every time…"

In the quiet that followed, Shikamaru turned his head against Neji's stomach and crossed his forearms at the edge of the bed. Eyes drifting shut, his breathing slowed and synched to the steady rise and fall of Neji's breaths, as if by some internal design. He went with the rhythm, felt the heaviness settling in.

"Don't let me fall asleep like this."

"I won't."

"Liar."

A deep, sonorous chuckle, followed by the soft tap of Neji's thumb…a gentle heartbeat in Shikamaru's mind…steady…slow…slipping…

Shit, he was totally falling asleep.

Sighing, he sucked in a cleansing breath and gazed up though his lashes at the lidded eyes watching over him. "I should go," he murmured.

Neji blinked, heavy, slow, a sleepy smile canting his lips. "You _are_ going…"

Shikamaru narrowed his eyes with playful menace. "Yeah…going straight to the orthopedic department." He arched his back against the stiffness setting in. Didn't want to move. Really needed to.

"Come here," Neji said again.

Shikamaru's eyes softened at the invitation but the playfulness faded from his smile, replaced with a pinch of regret. He shook his head. "I'm not that strong, Neji."

The Hyūga tilted his head, his expression torn between confusion and deeply buried comprehension. Understanding flickered deep in his eyes, a flame trapped in fogged-up crystal. Shikamaru imagined Neji like a prisoner behind a glass wall, lip reading the shadow-nin from the other side, grasping pieces, trying to translate their dialogue as if reading it backwards, a messy scrawl that made no sense without the mirror of a clear mind to reverse and reflect the words in order.

_Order. Control…_

In a couple of hours – maybe less – that glass would break and Neji would be back in total control, wielding restraint it like a club. Shame it would come too late to make much difference. Moves had been made, words had been spoken, their pieces rearranged...ready for the next time to come around.

"…_I will always find you."_

A claim as risky and sacrificial as Climbing Silver. And there was just no way Shikamaru would ever let Neji make that move. Because there was only one way that it would end – in irretrievable pieces.

_And I won't survive that._

Not because he couldn't; but because he wouldn't want to. And _that_ realisation terrified him about as much as the past he was trying so hard not to remember.

_Don't go there. Be here._

Here. But here with Neji, wasn't where he was supposed to be. He needed to go. He needed to pull his shit together and walk away. Neji had done it. Now it was his turn. He could do that.

_Yeah. I can. I just don't want to._

A wry smile twisted his lips. "You know. I'm not sorry this happened to you," Shikamaru said, his voice rough with the honesty of it.

"Of course you're not," Neji said, deadpan and drowsy-eyed. "You came out of it looking better than I did."

Humour. An exit.

_Take it._

Shikamaru managed a chuckle. With a laboured stretch, he forced himself to straighten away from the bed, felt Neji's hand slip away. A pang tugged hard behind his ribs. "Yeah well, face-saving is everything."

Neji's hand settled atop his stomach. "Be careful. You sound like a Hyūga."

"Yeah? And you're sounding a little less crazy." Which meant he needed to go. Now. Fast. "Guess that means you should make like a Nara and catch that nap."

"And once again our roles reverse."

Just one more irony in the story of their intersecting lives. The corners of Shikamaru's eyes crinkled warmly. "Yeah, what's up with that?"

A soft languid smile before Neji's eyes strayed over Shikamaru's shoulder. "Must be the full moon," he murmured, echoing back the shadow-nin's earlier words.

Shikamaru turned towards the glass panes, his sharply delineated profile falling into dappled shadow and broken light as he gazed past the canopy of autumn-gilded leaves. The moon hung lower now, its powdery yellow halo fading against the brightening sky, drifts of cloud gaining the soft pastel tint of dawn.

"Yeah," he murmured after a long while. "Must be."

Silence behind.

Shikamaru turned, his heart squeezing in his chest.

Neji's eyes were shut, dark lashes sweeping low, his lips slightly parted, a rare expression of peace casting his strong patrician features into the softer, smoother mask of rest. Tilting his head, Shikamaru memorized the way he looked in that moment, emblazoning it in his mind along with all the other mental snapshots hanging in his head…in his heart…

_Don't do that. You're way too smart for_ that_ kind of stupid._

It wasn't the first time he'd recited that line. And it wouldn't be the last time he'd try to believe it. Smiling slightly, Shikamaru watched Neji breathe, felt his own chest falling into the same rhythm, the same pattern…

_Not this time._

Stepping over to the bed, he grazed a knuckle across the Hyūga's mouth and gave a soft crooked smile. "Next time around, Neji?"

Walking away, he never saw those opal eyes flicker open, never heard the soft reply as the door clicked shut.

"Every time around, Shikamaru."

* * *

**TBC.**

**A/N: **Onto the epilogue and the curtain call! This has been one heck of a writing ride and I appreciate all the support that you reviewers have been giving me. That's what's kept me motivated, kept me moving. Else I'd have been stuck chewing over the guilt of abandoning my originals as I write this. But I wanted to give that shout-out to those motivating me and showing that interest and keeping me from freaking out in my dark little writer's cave. I kind of karate-kicked my ass back into the fanfic game without a crash-mat in place and just like with BtB and OtC, the characters have taken me in directions I hadn't suspected. I hope you enjoy the bumps, turns and twists. I can't seem to keep it stupid simple. A simple PWP would've probably satisfied a lot of appetites (that's right, I'm talking to you shameless little smut-sluts, I know how you loveth the lemons *evil grin* hey, who doesn't?) but I'm just not wired that way unless it serves the story/characters. And that's what I want to give you guys. A crazy ride, but hopefully a worthwhile story. One I hope you'll remember and not want to hunt me down and shoot me for having written it ;). I thank those of you who get that about me and my crazy-long chapters and secondary character shoutouts. I thank each of you who've given and continue to give me the encouragement I need to go with it, flow with it and keep it real. I **appreciate** you. I thank you for your time and for sharing your thoughts and insights with me. Always, _every time_. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Now, onto the end.


	9. EPILOGUE

Disclaimer: NARUTO and its characters were created and are owned by Masashi Kishimoto. Original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement intended.

Title: REQUIEM

Pairings: ShikaNeji, Asuma/Kurenai, Shikaku/Yoshino

Rating: M / R (language etc.)

Genre: Angst/General

Summary: Death is a fate we all share, but grief can leave us divided. In the shadow of Asuma's death the shinobi of Konoha learn that grief, unlike death, isn't just a thief in the night – but a night in itself. (BtB series)

**Timeline**: Shippuden. Neji and Shikamaru aged 17-18 (post-Hidan and Kakuzu arc, pre-Invasion of Pain arc). Approx. 2 days after Hidan's burial.

* * *

**REQUIEM**

by Okami Rayne

**EPILOGUE**

_Wheels within wheels. Walls within walls. He stood unmoved and steeled, in the centre of the wasteland. Nothing existed here. Nothing to gain, nothing to lose. No face, no soul, no name._

_The Sovereign's voice was at his ear; "Kaika? That's not your real name is it? Your real name is on this list of proctors…but the question is, _which_ Konoha dog are you?"_

_Silence._

_The Sovereign clucked his tongue. "Don't think you can deceive me. It's not about strategy in here. That comes later, with the board. It's like I told the kid. First, we need the beast. First we need the animal. Do you understand?"_

_Kaika kept his gaze turned inwards, focused on the wheels, the walls, the wasteland of feeling…felt nothing, said nothing, betrayed nothing._

_Nothing. Nothing. Nothing._

_The Sovereign stroked a hand across Kaika's bare stomach, circled his navel with a clawed finger until blood began to bead and drip. "No. You don't understand it. All you dogs know is what you're told. But my little shadow-nin, he knows something you don't. He knows you're out of options. You're out of luck. You're out of touch."_

"_And you're out of your fucking mind."_

"_Ha! It sure feels that way, doesn't it? Being cooped up for 21 years is enough to make even the sanest man feel crazy. But crazy isn't what I'm feeling right now. What about you? Let's play therapist. How does this make you _feel_?"_

_Nothing. Nothing. Nothing._

_A curdling growl from somewhere behind, deep in the throat, as if choked with disease, not quite human, not quite animal. Not quite anything Kaika had ever been prepared for._

_It didn't matter._

_Nothing mattered but his silence._

_He let his 'feelings' roll away with the wheels, go bouncing off the walls. Wheels within wheels, walls within walls – focused entirely on his breathing, on the wasteland in his mind._

_The Sovereign laughed. "Ah, conditioned not to show your fear? So we've got another ANBU operative in the mix. How interesting. Danzō just loves sending you little ROOT bitches into my cage to sniff around my shit."_

_That brought Kaika's gaze up a fraction. His eyes narrowed._

_The Sovereign smirked. "That's right, pet. I get the distinct feeling that Konoha has once again reneged on their promise to Kusagakure. Fuck that. Their promise to _me_."_

"You_ reneged on that promise the second you made a move to take that kid you sick sonofabitch."_

"_Ah but you see, I have a longstanding partnership with Sarutobi Hiruzen – quiet as he is these days – and I've got some heavy unfinished business with the Nara." A thick clawed finger waved in warning. "I don't appreciate being forgotten by kindred spirits. And the Nara and I…" The Sovereign's words wafted away on a sigh, melancholy but for the menace burning in those black eyes. "Ah, the Hokage is a cruel, cruel bastard for sending another shadow-nin my way. You'd think he'd have learned the first time around."_

_Clearly The Sovereign didn't know the Sandaime was dead. An opportunity._

_Kaika frowned, swallowed blood and croaked. "The first time?"_

"_Father and son. It's almost poetic. I hate poetry, but I love irony."_

_Father and son? Nara Shikaku. Kaika's mind reeled at the implication._

_The Sovereign waved a hand. "Tch. You're too young to know about that. No matter. You won't interfere. But you _will_ tell me your name and you _will_ tell me where you hid my little strategist."_

"_Go fuck yourself."_

"_Ah, but I can think of someone else I'd rather fuck right now. I have a delicious feeling that you might be acquainted with him." The Sovereign turned, squatted beside a steel cage, picked up a chain that snaked between the bars and dragged a bloody figure out from the darkness; an abandoned seraph ripped from hell and thrust into the light._

"_Wake up, pet." The Sovereign's hand snarled in long ash-blond hair, yanked hard, jerked up a face lined in blood and stubborn defiance. Dark lashes flickered open and violet eyes blazed._

_God, those eyes…_

_Kaika's heart constricted. A painful stab of fear as the wheels spun away, the walls collapsed, the wasteland trembled…_

_And all the hard-drilled training fled his mind._

_Fury crashed through him._

_He slammed against his restraints. "You sonofaBITCH!"_

"_Oh ho!" The Sovereign laughed, delighted. "What's this? Such sudden emotionalism from an ANBU operative! And all over _this _sorry piece of shit_…_" The hand gnarled tighter, yanked the blond head back further, exposing a collared neck chafed raw by chains. "I call him Koinu. He's still in the puppy-training stages of the Shinjū Trials, you see. I just love how the term 'pet project' has a whole new ring to it."_

"_Bastard…" Kaika hissed, body racked with fury, shaking hard._

"_Ah, now," The Sovereign purred. "There it is. Tell me. What is this thing you're feeling? It's animalistic isn't it? Name it. Better yet, give me _your_ real name."_

_Snarling, Kaika held his tongue, curled it hard against his teeth._

_The Sovereign sighed, looked down at Koinu. "Ah, dog. It's time to speak."_

_Silence._

"_Come on now, pet. Tell me this interfering bastard's name. I already know the kid. I'd like to know his keeper." A vicious yank of hair and chain. "SPEAK!"_

_Violet eyes flared, the bruised jaw like iron, pale lips moving. "I don't know him."_

_A useless lie. They'd have known each other anywhere…at any time…in any life…_

_A thin serrated blade, rusty with old blood, came to rest against the right corner of Koinu's mouth, the tip digging in. "21 years of being locked in this shithole have lent me a lot of virtues. Patience, I'm afraid, isn't one of them. Now, ANBU operative Kaika with the balls of steel, you'd better give me your real name or I'll remove this bitch's ability to ever shape a name or make a sound again."_

_Kaika bit his tongue, tasted blood…_

_The Sovereign cocked his head, twisted the blade, split skin and sent a thin stream of red dribbling down Koinu's chin, down along his collared throat. "Tell me your name, ninja."_

_It was at the back of Kaika's mouth…consonants and vowels…bitter, betraying…_

_Violet eyes flashed in warning, ordered him to hold his tongue._

_Kaika grit his teeth, his tortured gaze fixed on those fierce purple-blue eyes…expression twisting, airway closing, his breath a ball of fire in his throat…_

_He wanted to scream…spoke with his eyes…'don't make me do this…'_

_Violet orbs, hard and cold as amethyst, softened ever so slightly before they drifted shut, bloody lips turning up in a rueful smile. "I don't know hi—"_

_Blood flew from the blade, sliced straight through flesh and face and Kaika's breaking heart._

_He screamed his name. "GENMA!"_

Kakashi jack-knifed awake at the strangled scream.

A dozing cat sprang off the nest of makeshift sheets, crouched down in the far corner of the _tatami_ room and hissed, tail thrashing, ears pinned, grey fur electric with fear.

_Fear._

Kakashi's senses came alive with it; sour on the air, salty on the tongue, cold and damp in the sheets and shaking in-and-out of the heaving body stretched beside him.

_Genma._

Kakashi's mind sharpened like a blade, body going still. Well acquainted with nightmares, he made no move to touch the other man. He'd lost enough blood tonight.

_Night? No..._

A faint powdery light slanted through the scaffolding outside, streaking the dark room with the chalky beams of dawn. His eyes widened. God, he'd stayed the night. How had he let that happen?

Genma shuddered beside him. "_Stop_…"

Kakashi turned his head, twisted around slowly, quietly, untangling his arms from the tattered _noren_ sheets Genma had ripped off the curtain rail.

He spoke softly into the thick and trembling air. "Genma."

Sprawled on his back, Genma's lashes flickered and his head rolled, spine arched, muscles tensing and shifting with every shuddering breath. Under any other circumstances, Kakashi might've felt privy to some intense and erotic dream, but there was nothing sensual about the way Genma's fingers gnarled against the straw mats, wrists twisting as if caught in phantom chains, lips moving without words until he breathed a ragged _"Please…"_

Kakashi's eyes widened at the choked plea, more for the fact that he'd never heard Genma beg for _anything_; not in pleasure and not in pain. Not even at the height of passion that Genma seemed to find in the two extremes. To hear such a powerless word shaking from the Shiranui's lips…spoken like some tattered prayer cast up, betraying his defences, leaving him vulnerable and raw and…

_Human._

A long-forgotten, seldom seen gentleness came to Kakashi's eyes. He twisted round a little more. "Genma."

"_Please_…" the Shiranui rasped again, jaw clenched, lips pulled back, hissing curses between his teeth. _"Shit…_get up_…get up…"_

Kakashi leaned across on his elbow. "_Genma_," louder this time. "You're dreaming."

Thrashing now, head tossed back, the words lost on panting breaths.

"Genma," louder still. "Genma you—!"

A strangled roar and Genma's eyes shot open, the whites visible all around, bronze irises swirling with hate, with horror, with—

_Hurt…_

Stunned cold, Kakashi froze.

Gripped by the night terror, Genma came up off the floor with such explosive speed that the copy-nin had no time to avoid, only block. As Genma's hand shot towards his throat, Kakashi threw his left arm up between them. The Shiranui's fingers closed around his forearm like the iron teeth of a hunter's trap. It was a move designed to crush and rip out an opponent's windpipe.

No attempt to disable – just straight for the kill.

But it left Genma open.

Quick as a heartbeat, Kakashi cracked his right elbow into the crook of Genma's outstretched arm then snapped it up into the underside of the Shiranui's jaw. The Tokujō's head whipped back, shattering the attack and the dream.

"Genma!"

Genma jolted awake, disoriented and in shock.

Kakashi took advantage.

He slammed a reverse-blade hand strike into the side of Genma's neck and followed the attack down with his body, pinning the other ninja to the _tatami_ with his forearm barred across the Shiranui's neck.

He brought his lips to the Tokujō's ear, spoke sharply. "Shiranui, you're safe."

Genma went abruptly still before his breath gushed out, adrenalin breaking into the shakes, washing his skin in a cold sweat.

Feeling the tension bleeding out, Kakashi eased off his arm onto his palms, drawing up enough to hover. A segment of warm grainy light stroked above his unmasked face, casting his features in shadow, save for the shock of wild silver strands limned gold in the breaking light.

"You're safe," Kakashi repeated, softer.

Bronze orbs flashed up, burning with such startling brightness and naked emotion it knocked Kakashi into a stricken stare. It took him a moment longer to register the wet gleam streaking across the Shiranui's eyes.

Silver brows tugged together softly. "Genma."

Wrong move.

The light in those eyes cut out in a flicker.

Genma snarled, rolled out from under the scrutiny of the mismatched gaze and put his back to Kakashi like a shield, a wall, an impenetrable defence. Leaning on his elbow, the Tokujō pushed shaking fingers through his hair, ribs heaving.

"The fuck are you still doing here?" he growled.

_Excellent question._

With no answer; thus, the query went in one ear and straight out the other.

Kakashi leaned away, kept his gaze trained on Genma's back; a canvas crisscrossed with scars and spattered with bruises, skin glistening with sweat that beaded and rolled in tiny opals down the angular valleys of shoulders and spine.

"Genma…"

Muscles contracted, breathing tightened, a battle fought on the inside as Genma held himself rigid against…

_Against what?_

"_Please…"_

The broken word rattled in Kakashi's brain, threatened to run riot with all the other lose marbles rolling around in his skull. Ah but surely there'd been some madness in the moon last night.

_Not just madness…_

Belatedly, Kakashi's attention flicked from Genma's body back to his own. In an instant, his mind disengaged from the immediate danger and latched onto the dawning realisation that he'd been…

_Patched up…?_

Well, provisionally at least. Strips of ratty gauze had been plastered in haphazard array over the worst of his wounds, the medical tape old and peeling but sufficient enough to hold the compresses in place. Frowning, Kakashi splayed his fingers over the discoloured skin across his stomach and realised upon closer inspection that what he thought was infection or bruises was in fact the yellow stain of iodine.

_And he didn't even wake me whilst doing it…_

That shouldn't have been so surprising. Genma had never woken him in the past.

_This isn't the past._

No. This was the present blown straight to hell. Time crawled through Kakashi in slow motion, every second magnifying the horror of this terrible mistake. In fact, when the hell had Genma had the _time_ to tend to him? Or the co-ordination? The Shiranui had been stoned out of his head and screwed into the floor, barely conscious by the end of it.

Guilt flayed across Kakashi's conscience and he winced.

_God…what have I done?_

What _hadn't_ he done? What hadn't he stopped?

Genma sat up.

The sudden movement spooked the forgotten cat into a shivering ball of pre-emptive hissing. Genma turned his head and a touch of sunlight caught like a glowing crescent at the edge of his iris, firing it like an ember. He bared his teeth and hissed back at the feline.

The grey tabby quietened, eyes narrowed into two lime slits.

Kakashi watched the animal interplay, silent, wary…curious.

Genma turned his head a little more, studied Kakashi out the corner of his eye for a long morbid minute as if trying to decipher the other man's mind – or his motives. He hadn't answered Genma's question. He'd left it strewn rhetorically between them…along with all the unearthed tensions.

A tiny smirk twisted at the corner of Genma's mouth. "Still here? Did you forget the rules of food, fight, fuck?"

Spat like senbon laced with venom.

Kakashi kept his face in shadow, Sharingan eye closed. He shook his head. "I don't play by those rules anymore."

Genma laughed without amusement, the cold sound cracked by the barest shiver of his breath. "Yeah, 'cause you're reformed." He rocked to his feet, nude and unabashed, staring down at the copy-nin through drowsy lids. "Took a tumble off that wagon last night though, didn't you?"

The hairs at the base of Kakashi's neck stirred, but he kept his silence.

Genma tilted his head, dangerously slow. "Quite the relapse," he taunted, stroking his eyes over the drift of material tangled around Kakashi's hips, letting his gaze track upward over the long lean contours of the chiselled body in a heated, licentious crawl, clucking his tongue. "Guess that makes you one of the _formerly_ reformed."

Shame scraped beneath Kakashi's skin like a burning scalpel, but his grey eye sharpened to the likeness of flint. "So says the authority on addiction."

The barb hit dead centre. Genma eyes slashed up, the lascivious flame extinguished. He worked his jaw from side to side, teeth set on edge – no senbon to manipulate, no cruel words to spit…just the bitter truth between them, naked and raw as their bodies.

Grunting, the Shiranui turned and exited the room via a smashed-in _fusuma_ panel.

The cat streaked after him.

Quiet followed, broken up by the clack of ceramic and the plaintive mewing of a disgruntled feline. Water running, the scrape of glass...

Somewhere in the building a baby began to wail.

Listening out, Kakashi sat up slowly, narrowed his eyes against the beams of light slanting in through the glass doors. Blinking hard, he stared at the ruptured wall of _fusuma_ panels. The jagged hole gaped wide and ominous, like the mouth to a predator's cave. A fitting comparison, considering they'd crashed through those panels in a wild frenzy, slamming each other down to rut like beasts, all but passing out on the blood-streaked floor, smelling of death and sex and animal tragedy.

Kakashi sighed, grey eye drifting shut in a kind of agony.

No denying that he'd come here with the beast in his blood, trying to avoid a rampage by seeking rapture, looking for a light on in a lonely window, for an old flame in dead eyes, for—

_A man I used to know…_

Used to know, used to use, used to mutually damage; and always during nights like last night…when he was nothing more than a wolf in man's clothing, lost and howling under a cold blue moon.

_Some kind of animal…coming here…taking what I want…knowing exactly how to get it…_

And then curling up in the carnage, not even having the decency to bury the bones of the past he'd carved up between them. He'd been as reckless with Genma as he'd been during his earlier rampage in the woods.

_Sex and death…I don't mix those monsters anymore…_

Yet here he was, years down the line, veering off course, falling into the gutter of an old sin – dragging Genma with him. And what an alarmingly short fall, given all the years he'd put between them.

"I'd almost forgotten that face."

Kakashi's head came up. He found Genma leaning against the broken threshold, a pair of black pants riding low on his bruised hips. He held a shōchū bottle between his split knuckles and a steel needle between his lips, his eyes as unreadable as his expression.

He studied Kakashi for a long, penetrative moment. "You're still one good-looking bastard, I'll give you that."

An age-old sense of reserve came over Kakashi like a rash, followed closely by another hot dose of shame. God, he hadn't done it by halves tonight, had he?

_Hn. In for a penny, in for a pound…_

A pound of flesh, feeling, foolishness…

Flinching away from the light, he cast his face back into shadow and brushed his fingers across the tense slant of his jaw, scanning around for his mask. He spied it rumpled at the threshold along with his sleeveless turtleneck and standard-issue slacks.

_Of course._

Tattered, bloody and out of reach – not unlike his sanity, at this point.

"If you'd be so kind," the copy-nin crooned in his mellifluous lilt, rusty around the edges but convincing enough – he hoped.

Genma considered the request, senbon ticking back and forth. After an inordinate pause – during which Kakashi felt more exposed and raw than a fetid wound – the Tokujō crouched down and hooked the mask with a finger. Straightening up, he tapped the end of the bottle against a sharp hipbone and swivelled the shōchū to display the label.

Kakashi recognised the brand, shook his head.

Genma smirked, a sardonic edge cutting into his words. "You'll fight and you'll fuck, but you'll turn down my food?"

"That doesn't qualify as food."

"It's one of my staples," the Tokujō defended, tossing Kakashi's mask over. "Even Asuma appreciated that."

Kakashi caught the mask one-handed, brows pinched. That ornament of grief, delicate as fine-blown glass, inched a little close to the edge of the high shelf he'd placed it on.

"He did," Kakashi husked, pulling on his mask.

But then, Asuma had never judged people by their bad habits – that would've made him a hypocrite. And for all the Sarutobi's self-perceived flaws, he'd never lived by double-standards. He'd lived his life by a set of strange and often contradictory codes, albeit ones far more honourable than those Kakashi and Genma had scrawled across their consciences. Indelible as ANBU ink, a scar on the soul…

_"You know what your problem is, Shiranui? You and Kakashi...you guys don't believe in second chances..."_

Kakashi pressed his eyes shut, rubbed at the crease between his brows. "Genma, what happened last ni—"

"Sh."

He looked up at the abrupt dismissal, watched Genma move towards him, not with the usual cat-like grace; the flow of the Shiranui's steps was too staggered and deliberate for any kind of stealth – which hinted at a sore body and a still not-quite-sober mind.

"No words," the Shiranui muttered, slumping back down beside Kakashi, holding up the bottle in benediction. "A libation."

Kakashi smiled faintly, though the mask disguised it. "A libation," he echoed.

Genma shrugged, twisted the cap off with a quick jerk of his wrist. "Best I can do before I kick you out. You fucking bled all over my floor."

Hard to imagine how that in any way bothered a man living in a place blotched with all manner of noxious stains and discolouration, redolent with mildew and plaster dust, wreathed with cobwebs and cracks.

"And here I was wondering what inspired you to play doctor," Kakashi said, taking the bottle from Genma's grip, surprised when the long fingers barely even twitched in resistance. "Although iodine into open wounds? That's a little primitive."

"It fit the mood."

Chastened, Kakashi tipped his head and conceded the point – felt it bury itself like a barbed arrow between his ribs. "Touché."

A soft mewl from the doorway.

Both ninja looked over, watched the grey tabby sniff around Kakashi's clothes, crooked tail twitching, pawing at the rumpled heap. That didn't bode well.

Genma hissed, flicked the senbon up and down.

The cat looked up, mesmerised by the wink of light.

Kakashi watched the interaction. "I didn't realise you had a pet."

The senbon froze as Genma went rigid at the word 'pet'. Then quick as it had come, the tension bled out and he lounged back on his elbows, watching the feline through his lashes. "And I didn't realise you still howled at the moon." He gestured at Kakashi's patched up wounds. "Looks like you raised more than your own demons."

Humming, Kakashi stared down the neck of the bottle, swirled the contents with a lazy spin of his wrist. "The interesting part will be laying those demons to rest…" he paused, not appreciating the ambiguity of his words and the far more personal things they could've alluded to. He shook his head, searched for a way to clarify. "The Chūnin exams are dangerous enough without a monstrous dose of overkill."

Genma frowned slightly, his eyes on the cat. "Am I supposed to know what you're talking about?"

Surprised, Kakashi looked across. "The chimaera hybrids." When this elicited nothing but a blank stare, Kakashi gave the Tokujō a sceptical look. "Well, you certainly ought to know about this. You were an invigilator. Unless the _Goei Shotai _has taken precedence?"

"Chimaera hybrids," Genma redirected, his blunt tone edged with a hint of impatience…or was there something else in that voice?

Kakashi contemplated the other ninja for a brief moment. "The new battle stock from Kusagakure," he explained. "They arrived this week. Although it seems they've traded in the usual larger than life monsters for these chakra-enhanced crossbreeds."

And they hadn't come from the usual supplier; there was no official seal from Kusagakure's _daimyō_. Isolated as Kusagakure had kept itself over the years – ever since the warring period – it still honoured a long-standing contract and collaborative business with Konoha regarding research into chakra-enhancement and experimentation. They also provided vital ingredients for the Akimichi soldier pills and Nara medical research facility. But their most prized commodity was undoubtedly the giant beasts, such as those teeming in the Forest of Death.

Kakashi frowned, his thoughts returning to the strange silence that'd gripped the air. Genma seemed very still beside him, absorbing what was being said without comment, his eyes hooded, the faintest of lines drawn between his brows.

Kakashi cocked his head, framed his next words carefully. "Not like you to be out of the loop."

No response. At least not immediately. The senbon ticked side-to-side. "Kusagakure aren't permitted to engage in interspecies experimentation," Genma eventually said, sounding as if he were thinking out loud. "Not at that level."

"Well, that's what the rule book says," Kakashi agreed.

And _kami_ knew how many rules Konoha had put in place. The Sandaime had been adamant. Thus, despite the ugly origins of this animal-experimentation practice – instigated by Orochimaru – its development had been monitored over the years to ensure experimentations didn't breach any ethical agreements between the villages.

_Yes. There are always rules._

"But not everyone plays by the rules," Kakashi pointed out. "The question is whether or not Kusagakure's _daimyō _and council have anything to do with this, because if they do, then that turns a simple breach of terms into a whole different ballgame."

"It's not simple. What's the Godaime's stance on this situation?"

Kakashi stopped swirling the shōchū. How could Genma not know about this? He answered to keep from drawing attention to his suspicion, "She's exercising caution. It just so happens that Kusagakure have extended an invitation to our shinobi to investigate their village under the pretext of a mission."

Genma looked askance. "Pretext?"

"Well, I'm assuming worst case scenario, how—"

"Never assume."

Kakashi arched a brow at the blunt interjection but went on smoothly. "_However_, it could be a legitimate mission. They're offering a substantial reward to resolve the matter."

"Legitimate mission based on what?"

Kakashi had to smile. Genma didn't miss a beat, which suggested his brain was revving back into gear. "The _daimyō's_ claim is that this illegal experimentation and trafficking is the work of an underground faction."

"Underground faction…"

"So he says. He denies his involvement, but we need to know for sure."

_Because the last thing we need is another war…_

Especially with Kusagakure.

Memories bobbed at the surface of Kakashi's mind, rotten and bloated…like the horrors buried beneath Kannabi Bridge. His Sharingan eye gave a warning twinge.

_Don't think about that now…_

Besides, there were far more pressing things to consider – like the look on Genma's face. Drained of colour, expression frozen, the Shiranui looked as pale and drawn as a bleached statue, his glazed eyes fixed and staring at a point far beyond the ruptured walls.

Kakashi frowned, set the bottle down. "Are you alright?"

Genma recovered so quickly Kakashi had to wonder whether he'd imagined the stricken look. The Shiranui sat up, slid the senbon to the side of his mouth and snagged the bottle from the copy-nin's fingers. He took a quick swig, eyes fixed ahead.

"You know a lot about this," he murmured.

"I was originally ordered to head the mission."

"Who's heading it now?"

"Hyūga Neji. I also believe Team 10 have been assigned."

Genma's stomach tightened, the sudden ripple of muscle drawing Kakashi's eye.

"Team 10?" the Tokujō said. "You sure?"

"Yeah." Kakashi paused, decided it was time to start trading answers for an explanation or two. He looked across, eyes slit with suspicion. "How is it possible that you don't know any of this? You should've been informed."

Genma stared ahead for a long moment, eyes narrowed, senbon angled down. He shrugged and took another swig of the shōchū. "If I don't know, then I don't need to."

Kakashi frowned, watching the cords in Genma's throat pull and loosen as he swallowed, washing down all the words he wouldn't say. It reminded Kakashi of all the words that _he'd_ had to swallow earlier. He'd agreed to sever his line of questioning, give up on all the conspiracy theories that seemed to be hanging around Genma like a toxic pall.

_And it's taking its toll…_

Evident in the way that the Shiranui lived his double life – terminally, dangerously, constantly on the edge of one drug or the other. It didn't stop him functioning, which led Kakashi to wonder what it stopped him feeling.

He squinted at Genma as if looking through smoke. "Does it help?"

The question could've referred to any number of poisons; the lies, the drugs, the drink, the dilapidated state of living. Genma sighed, draped his arms across his raised knees and tilted his head back, staring up through shuttered lids at the cross-grid of powdery light filtering through the windows. It fell across him like the pattern of a net – or a cage.

"Doesn't matter," he murmured, that faraway light flickering behind his eyes. "I'm still here."

Kakashi watched him for a long moment, sadness stealing across his face and into his voice. "Yeah," he whispered hoarsely. "You never left."

Genma grated his teeth across the senbon, knuckles tightening around the bottle's slender neck. "Doesn't matter," he said again. "What matters is that I get up and I get on." He sniffed, took a long swallow of the shōchū, dragged the back of his wrist across his mouth, voice as brittle as rust. "And now you need to get out."

Even if Kakashi had found the words to respond, Genma didn't wait to hear them. The Shiranui rocked to his feet, cold and remote. Kakashi could see the man's defences settling into place, shielding him against all the harsh complications and unassailable brutalities of the human condition.

What a judgement call…

Especially when _he'd_ come here howling down his own humanity…

And now the hour of madness had passed – leaving what behind? More damage? New direction? A sense of understanding about this man he thought he used to know?

_A man I left behind…_

A comrade in the trenches, slowly bleeding out…

"…_those who abandon their comrades are worse than trash! If I'm going to be called trash either way, I'd rather break the rules!"_

The weight of those words sat heavy in Kakashi's heart, accumulating mass with every death…reminding him of a debt to be paid forward, not passed back. What good did it do to honour the dead and forget the living? Watching Genma drift away, Kakashi felt a sense of lost perspective drifting back.

_Yes, time to get up and get on…_

Which would mean going back one last time, for the long lost friend he'd left behind.

* * *

Behind. Above. Below. All around. He could sense their chakra signatures, faint as shadow play behind the walls. They weren't even trying to mask their presence from him. That, if nothing else, spoke volumes about Shimura Danzō's arrogance.

Inoichi's lip curled in distaste.

"_The ghosts are gathering. You understand."_

Ghosts. What a fitting euphemism for all the unknown agents involved. Inoichi had sacrificed enough to feel like he'd lost chunks of his damn soul in the process; ghost? Sure. That word fit like a well-worn glove. Shame it hadn't kept the blood from his hands.

_And who else's hands?_

Who were the other 'ghosts' the Third had entrusted with this matter? Who _else_ had Danzō manipulated into honouring the Sandaime's wishes whilst pushing his own agenda? How many others had the Council agreed to bring into the circle?

_21 years of silence…and now…?_

And now Kusagakure's latest activity had kicked up the past like a hornets nest. Those damned chimaera hybrids. Inoichi paused, turned and began pacing the other way to keep from over-analysing and assuming. He had no facts, no figures, no fucking clue; just a cold hard rock lodged in his gut, heavy as the flat rectangular table he'd been circling for the past thirty minutes. He'd been kept waiting, without water or a word, in the stark anteroom for almost two hours.

_Like a criminal about to be grilled._

There was irony in that, considering he'd left Shikaku and Chōza behind under the pretext of a summons to the Torture and Interrogation division.

Not a complete lie and not a whole truth.

_Truth…_

The word echoed off the walls in his mind, in tandem with the sound of his footfalls echoing off the cold concrete floor. Truth buried in deception, the sweet flower within the bitter seed.

"_The flower of tomorrow is the seed of today."_

Yes, he knew all about reaping what one sowed. He felt the ghosts of those regrets as surely as he sensed the ROOT operatives shadowing him from all sides, like rats crawling in the vents, creeping through the sewers.

Kami, what a way to live.

_What a way to die..._

The thought soured his mood, curdled his memories until they thickened like clots in his blood, blocking up veins and arteries, racking his heart with spams of unresolved grief…and unassailable guilt…

"_ROOT? ROOT!?" He surged to his feet, sent the chair crashing back and skewered the young man with an accusatory glare. "Are you out of your god damned mind!"_

_Violet eyes lowered just to the side. "I will answer as I must, Inoichi-san."_

"_You will answer _exactly_ what I ask."_

"_I will answer as I _must_."_

"_If that's the only thing coming out of your mouth then I will rip the answers straight out of your mind."_

_A weak smile. Sad. Regretful. "I don't think so, ojisan. You taught me too well for that."_

"_My gods, boy. What the hell have you done!"_

"_What I had to."_

"_After everything I taught you? After everything you were told by the Third? After EVERYTHING you learned from _me_?" he had to stop, had to suck air against the winded feeling. "My god, after _everything_…your loyalty lies with DANZŌ?"_

_Not even a tic in the firm jaw. The bold angles of the face set as hard and proud as Inoichi's own features; the strong raw-boned Yamanaka gene. Gone was the softness of youth, no longer a boy, no longer a child…no longer the young man taken under the guiding wing…_

_Inoichi shook his head. "Why…?"_

"_I didn't do this to betray you."_

"_Yet you have. Kami…you have…"_

"_That wasn't my intention."_

"_Intention?" Inoichi barked a laugh. "Kiss that word goodbye, son. You've just given up your intentions! Given up your life! Your family! Your very identity! You've made yourself an instrument of a ruthless extremist!"_

"_That's not what I—"_

_Inoichi's palm slammed down, a judge's gavel. "I _forbid_ you to do this."_

"_Forbid me?" Now those violet eyes flicked up. "You're many things to me. But you're not my father."_

"_No." Inoichi pounded a fist above his heart. "But I'm your _blood_. And I was your sensei. And I couldn't love you more if you were my own son. But if you do this then you break those ties. Do you understand?" He left enough pause for an answer, but when none was forthcoming he added with cool finality, "If you do this then you are _dead_ to me."_

_Hesitation, a hint of fading light in the closed-off eyes. "Then as a dead man I have nothing to bequeath my family but this one gift." He reached into the pack slung obliquely across his chest, pulled out a scroll and laid it on the table. "I made it for Ino. Please give it to her. That's all I ask."_

_Inoichi glared at it as if it were poison. "What? You expect me to hang that on my wall like some homage to your memory? No. You don't get a place in our memories. Not if you choose this path."_

"_This is my duty."_

"_Bullshit! This is you signing your life away into the hands of a radicalised crusader. When you chose ANBU I supported you. I wanted to protect you from that path but I never stopped you from pursuing it. God, I was even proud that you stuck to your convictions. ANBU I could stomach. ANBU I could understand. But ROOT?!"_

"_That's right. You _don't_ understand. And if I could make you un—"_

"_I don't want to hear it. I don't want any part of Danzō's schemes. Not now. Not ever. I won't have that kind of blood on my hands again. You choose Danzō or you choose us. There's no middle ground."_

"_I can't back down on this."_

"_Why?!"_

_The barest movement of the throat, a twinge of cords before the lips tightened and the once melodious voice rang out cold, strung with steel. "Because we can't all cut and run."_

"_Oh you've cut and run alright. You've cut your ties to this clan and gone running off with a god damned cult."_

"_That is my path."_

"_Then you are _dead_ to me."_

_Nothing. No expression, no response. He might've been dead already for all the reaction he gave. "Then tell Ino I died doing my duty, ojisan…"_

"_Damn you boy, don't you dare call me that! And don't you dare speak my daughter's name. As of now you're as dead to her as you are to me." He shook his head, sea-green eyes aflame with fury. "You want to erase everything you are for the sake of that militant bastard then do it. But your wasted life won't be buried anywhere near my family. Not in their hearts and not in their heads."_

_A sudden fracture of emotion, a crack in the iced-over expression…and the boy Inoichi used to know broke through, his face pinching as if to staunch the flow of emotions leaking out, gathering in violet eyes. "You'd do that…?" he rasped. "Erase me from their memories?"_

_Inoichi hardened his heart, closed his mind. "In a heartbeat."_

"_A heartbeat? Did it take you that long to decide when you erased Shikak—"_

"_Shut your mouth!" Inoichi exploded, lunging round the table, every muscle strung with leashed violence, eyes blazing, nostrils flaring. "God help me, I'll kill you."_

"_You see?" A laugh that held no humour, choked and throaty. "Love or broken ties. Loyalty or betrayal. Right or wrong. Good or evil. So cut and dried with you. So black and white. I've always loved you for your values but god how I hate you now for your myopic view of the world!"_

"_Hate me? Surely you must hate me a great deal to do this. To come here and throw back in my face everything I ever taught you!"_

"_It's NOT that black and white! It's not that simple!"_

"_Oh, you've made it _that_ simple. You've dug your grave with Danzō and now you can rot in it. GET OUT! And don't you _ever_ return."_

He never had…

Inoichi stopped walking, knocked back a step by the force of his memories and the remorse that accompanied them. He braced a hand against the table as if battling dizziness. Up above, the ventilation whirred and the vermin scuttled, their masked signatures pulsing in and out of his mind before vanishing.

His head came up in surprise.

_Looks like the rats are abandoning the ship…_

No sooner had he thought this than the thick sliding door slotted open and four ROOT operatives swept in. Without a word, they moved to occupy the four corners of the room, stationed like sentinels.

Inoichi's eyes narrowed.

_What the hell?_

Another chakra signature flickered in his mind.

He turned his head just as a rail-thin man scuttled through the open door, his arms wrapped around a colour-coded stack of fluttering papers and several folders.

"Inoichi-san," the man said, taking a seat.

Inoichi did a quick head to toe assessment, taking in the reedy tuft of white hair, the broad shiny forehead, the dark beady eyes set far apart in a flat insect-like face. A pair of rimless glasses magnified the quick, darting gaze as it flitted between the ROOT agents and Inoichi, recording, re-evaluating.

_Shikaku's shrink…_

Inoichi recognised him for the mantis-like features, if nothing else. Shikaku never spoke about it. Inoichi never asked. He knew only one fact. A name.

_Dr Mushi._

Finally, a man he wasn't surprised to see.

But the predictability of the doctor's presence didn't do anything to take the edge off Inoichi's growing unease. He watched the psychiatrist flick through papers with a sharp, calculated snap of his index finger, sifting through all the footnotes, facts and figures that Inoichi didn't have.

_This can't be about Shikaku…he's been stable for 21 years…_

21 years. It'd passed like sand through a very small hourglass. One day at a time, that's how he'd tried to live his life. Because there were no guarantees and nothing was a given.

_Yet somehow…I always knew this day would come…_

It had haunted him for years, a shadow on his soul. Inoichi frowned, shifted his weight between each foot as if he could dislodge the heavy feeling taking hold.

"Are you alright, Inoichi-san?" Dr Mushi inquired from across the table, looking over the rims of his spectacles. "I imagine this must be very difficult for you."

Inoichi barely stifled his snort. What a statement. What a way to twist the knife. He gave the doctor a tight-lipped smile, his attention centred on the doorway at the sound of a cane striking concrete in the hallway; the steady, _tap-tap-tap_. It sounded out like an infuriating drip of water. Droplets before the downpour.

Inoichi pulled in a breath, watched the silhouette take form.

Danzō emerged in the dark mouth of the doorway, his gaze sweeping over the room like a chill wind. He led with his cane, steps stiff. He was accompanied by his steadfast flankers; Fū and his ROOT partner, a man dressed in the heavily clad raiment of an Aburame shinobi.

Inoichi paid them no heed, kept his gaze trained on Danzō.

The Shimura leaned heavily on his cane, his steps so stilted and his approach so gradual that he might've been in pain. Nothing could be further from the truth. Inoichi had no intention of falling for the infirm ploy. He tracked Danzō's slow orbit around the table, watched how the Shimura moved like a bird of prey circling the kill site. At length, he took his seat directly opposite the door.

After long pause, Danzō spoke. "Sit down, Inoichi."

Inoichi said nothing, just stood there regarding him levelly.

Danzō raised his scarred chin. That signalled the slow slide of the door, terminating the outside world, leaving only the cold cavity of the room and the sickly ochre glow of the dim bulbs overhead.

_What? That's it?_

Inoichi scanned the table, his brow furrowed.

"What is it?" Dr Mushi asked, drawing a sharp look from the Yamanaka. "Were you expecting someone else?"

Thinking an offhand statement was the best way to play it, Inoichi gave another thin smile, his voice rolling out on a dry note, "Not quite the turnout I had in mind."

Danzō's downturned mouth twisted in what might've been a smile. "Only fools put all their eggs in one basket, Inoichi-san."

Inwardly surprised, Inoichi kept a neutral expression. He hadn't intended to win any information with his play at impertinence. Talk about potluck. Now he knew for sure there was at least one other person – if not more – who should've been privy to this meeting.

Staring into the Shimura's one visible eye, Inoichi pretended to cede the point with a tip of his head. "I assume we're here to talk about Nara Shikaku."

"Sit down." Danzō said.

Inoichi's spine tightened. He made no move to comply.

Mushi's bright eyes regarded him, a twinkle of intrigue behind the round lenses, as if trying to identify what deep-rooted psychological issue was causing this rebelliousness.

_God, I hate shrinks…_

Danzō spoke again, his voice a blunt verbal fist. "Sit down, Inoichi."

Inoichi might've tried for another moment of defiance but the cold dread in his gut outweighed everything, even his resolve to remain standing. He pulled up a chair, sat heavily.

There was a brief, almost curious silence from the opposite end of the table, Danzō's cold calculating eye trained on Inoichi like a dart. "Such unwarranted suspicion, Inoichi."

"On who's part?" Inoichi challenged, immediately on the defensive. "You summon me here and keep me waiting for two hours, knowing full well that the reason you've called me is to discuss a matter that's bound to have set me on edge."

"On edge?" Danzō echoed, with all the innocence of a scheming child. "Why? Is there cause to be?"

Inoichi's eyes narrowed at the baiting tone. "Shikaku has been stable for 21 years."

"Indeed," Dr Mushi spoke up, fluffing up like a professor eager to share his findings with a science committee. "In fact, his biochemistry stabilized completely after the birth of his son. He's made remarkable progress since then." As if to empirically support his statements, Mushi thumbed through a few pages of notes, plucking a sheet free. "I was just informed about his engagement with the Kusagakure chimaera and I must say it's promising to see that all psychological triggers remain dormant. No symptoms of avoidance or hyperarousal. Very promising indeed."

"I believe you've belaboured your point, doctor," Danzō said.

Inoichi saw the opening, swept in fast. "Which brings into question the point of you summoning me here. Shikaku hasn't slipped. Not once. I wouldn't allow that to happen." He speared Danzō with a heated look. "You swore before the Sandaime that you'd keep ROOT away from him. Anything at this end regarding Kusagakure's surface activity was left in _my _hands."

Danzō had the gall to look amused. "Territorial as ever, Yamanaka. But as the past dictates, we can't always control the people or the plans we want to protect."

_Sonofabitch._

Inoichi dug his fingers into the arm of the chair to keep from coming up out of his seat. He could feel Dr Mushi's cold insect eyes flitting over him with the morbid fascination of a scientist observing a human experiment.

"You're worried for your friend," the doctor said.

Inoichi glared. "You have a real grasp of the obvious, doctor."

"Then set aside your concerns," Danzō said. "We're not here to discuss Nara Shikaku."

Inoichi's eyes sharpened warily, flicked to Fū. "And the point of your little misdirection in the clearing?"

Danzō smirked. "The _point _was to get your attention, Yamanaka."

The smack of manipulation hit Inoichi dead on centre, threatening to crack the cool crust of logic he kept layered over his volcanic temper. Danzō had known exactly how to play him. There was only one thing that had ever successfully been used against him. His family. And he considered the Nara and the Akimichi an intricate part of that circle.

"Shikaku's stability is not my concern," Danzō clarified, an echo of the words he'd spoken years ago. "It never was in relation to this matter. My only concern with Kusagakure is maintaining a toehold in their underground politics."

"Exactly," Inoichi argued. "Their _underground_ politics, not what goes on above the surface." But even as he said it, he sensed the cracks in his conviction. He kept the doubt from his face, kept it close to his chest. It wouldn't do to have Danzō think he was in anyway willing to entertain this meeting.

"What lurks below doesn't always stay buried beneath the surface," Danzō uttered. He waved a hand at the doctor. "Tell him."

Frowning at the demeaning flick of Danzō's wrist, Mushi nonetheless obeyed and gathered his notes to him. "One month ago I was called to examine a shinobi caught sneaking into the village via a subterranean system known only to ANBU. We assumed a spy."

Inoichi's turned his gaze squarely on the doctor. "Why wasn't he brought to Ibiki for questioning?"

Mushi shook his head. "There was no need. It turns out he was one of ours."

"One of mine," Danzō corrected.

Inoichi set his jaw at the comment. "ROOT."

Mushi nodded. "An undercover agent in a rather severe state. He was a mess." He consulted his notes, flipped through medical reports. "Brutalised, emaciated, malnourished, suffering from the onset of septicaemia and irregular chakra rhythms. The thing that baffled me was how lucid he seemed, at least initially. He kept asking for medical attention before being allowed to report to the Hokage."

Inoichi's brows went up, along with a few red flags. Why would a ROOT operative ask for the _Hokage_? They were answerable only to Danzō. It was also unheard of for an agent to demand medical attention when they were lucid enough to report in. All ANBU operatives – ROOT or otherwise – were required to report immediately to their superiors, irrespective of what state they were in. They could be coughing up their lungs or spilling out their guts onto the floor while relaying whatever information they'd gathered, but the cold fact remained that the information was always more valuable and important than the life of the operative.

Mushi smiled grimly at Inoichi's puzzled frown. "I know. Very unusual. But he was absolutely adamant. Naturally, this break with ROOT protocol alarmed me." A hint of regret pinched the flesh between the doctor's thinning brows. "Cruel as the tactic was, I told him I'd only get him a doctor if he gave me some answers."

Snorting, Inoichi's brow crept up archly. "Clearly you had the torture and interrogation part under control." He ignored the doctor's wounded look. "Well? Did he talk?"

Sighing, Dr Mushi tapped a finger to the bridge of his glasses. The lenses flashed white, obscuring his lowered eyes. "No, he went into septic shock part-way through his interrogation and was sectioned in ANBU's private ICU for two weeks before I was called in to reassess him." He flicked through his notes, framed one of his lenses between his fingers like a monocle. "However, the second he stabilised medically he refused to cooperate. I couldn't get anything from him. He insisted on seeing the Sandaime—"

"The _Sandaime_?" Inoichi echoed, incredulous.

Mushi nodded gravely. "He didn't realise that Hiruzen-sama had passed away two years prior. Let me assure you, this was no case of amnesia. He was shocked, I daresay saddened. Oddly emotional for a ROOT operative."

_Strange._

And frustrating. But he couldn't ask about that with Danzō sat across the damned table. Sighing, Inoichi rubbed at his jaw, let out a breath between his fingers. "He must've been pretty deep undercover not to know that the Hokage was dead."

"Yes. The agent had been a resident spy in Kusagakure for over ten years," Mushi explained, looking to Danzō for confirmation. "His mission was to keep an eye on their underground operation, yes?"

Inoichi arched a brow. "Underground operation?"

"Underground project," Danzō corrected, his next words ringing out like the toll of a death knell. "Project Shinjū. I trust you remember."

In the silence that followed those words, the blood drained out of Inoichi's face faster than the breath out of his lungs.

_Remember_?

_Kami_, he'd spent 21 years remembering. He had to set his hand against the edge of the table to brace himself against the barrage of memories.

"_Oh god no. Shikaku…what…what have you done?"_

"_This is my nature."_

Inoichi turned his head aside as if he'd been struck, eyes pressed shut before his gaze swung even with Danzō's, his voice a dangerous rumble. "Project Shinjū was terminated 21 years ago."

"Not so, Yamanaka."

Ashen-faced and on the verge of nausea, Inoichi tightened his grip on the table. "What the hell are you talking about? That was ROOT's mission."

Impervious to the accusatory glare, Danzō's tilted his head, his sole eye dark and dead as stone. "No, Inoichi. Terminating Project Shinjū was _your _mission. Yours, Chōza's and Shikaku's. And what a mess you made of it. You ought to be grateful Hiruzen passed it off into my hands in attempt to salvage something from the disaster."

Danzō couldn't have struck harder or dirtier with those words if he'd shoved a rusty blade straight into Inoichi's sternum.

"_Salvage_?" Inoichi breathed, incredulous. "Just what the hell could've been _salvaged_ from that facility other than the victims of its experiments? And even then, they weren't even human by the end of their tortures. What would you want with…" he trailed off, eyes going wide.

Danzō said nothing.

Taken aback, the Yamanaka shook his head in amazement. "My gods, you're no better than Orochimaru."

"Inoichi," Mushi cautioned.

"It's alright, doctor," Danzō said. "I'm used to being put on trial for issuing difficult directives that only _my_ people have the fortitude to carry out. Even if those difficult directives _are_ for the sake of the village."

"For the sake of the village?" Inoichi snarled, his voice rising with the fire in his belly, stealing over the cold shock. "For the sake of the village it was your _duty_ to shut that operation down. If you gave a damn about this village you'd have sealed off every square inch of that facility and you'd have burned and _buried_ it."

"You're assuming that Hiruzen wanted it buried."

Inoichi's breath cut off. He tugged his head back, his mind paralysed by the outrageous claim. "_What_?" he choked on the word, coughed it back up on a rough laugh, shaking his head. "I don't believe you."

"No. That would compromise your moral high ground. And how high and mighty those above the surface are, condemning those who work below." Danzō shook his head. "It's no wonder Hiruzen's precious Ino-Shika-Cho had their greatest _failure_ struck off the records. Gods forbid you should be hailed as anything other than heroes."

Acid into old wounds and Inoichi's eyes glowed like oxidised copper. "Are you telling me that Project Shinjū was never shut down?" At Danzō's silence, Inoichi felt the chill of a skeletal hand raking down his spine. "My gods…is _that _where the chimaera came from? Is _that _the underground activity you've been monitoring all these years?"

Danzō's eye remained dark and fathomless, not even a hint of emotion or a glint of intent. "ROOT's unique position requires it to liaise with every level of the underworld, Inoichi. Only like-minded individuals with the strength to do what is _necessary_ for the sake of this village could understand the kind of sacrifice it takes to infiltrate these lower levels. Sending you and your team in was a mistake. One that Hiruzen rectified by surrendering this matter into my hands."

"What? So that you could send in agents to _spectate_ on human experimentation like some kind of sick sport?" Inoichi bit out, a violent pressure building in his chest, lungs working like a bellows, fanning the rage even as he fought to contain it. "The Sandaime would _never _have condoned it! He'd _never_ have supported a project engineered by a psychopath, a project that almost cost Nara Shikaku his—!"

"Inoichi-san, please," Dr Mushi interjected softly, folding his fingers atop his files. "This situation is far too personal for you to appreciate the complicated politics involved. Project Shinjū may've been the brainchild of a psychopath, but the innovative advances that Shuken made in chakra development – both in the physiological and psychological fields – allowed us to expand and develop our own research into—"

"_Research?_" Inoichi hissed, his voice seething out between his teeth like steam. "Is _that_ what Nara Shikaku is to you? Fucking _research_?"

The ROOT shinobi stationed around the room stirred at the mounting tension, fingers twitching, ready to reach for blades. Danzō turned his head a fraction and they stilled at his nonverbal command.

Inoichi ignored them, his fury directed solely at the white-faced therapist. "You're supposed to be his _doctor_!" The Yamanaka snarled, gripping the edge of the table now, torso canted forwards like a rocket about to launch. "Kami, have you done _anything _for Shikaku in the past 21 years other than build a fucking case study around his trauma!?"

Dr Mushi jolted back in his seat, recoiling as if he'd been physically assaulted. "While I can understand you harbouring such a delusion, Yamanaka-san, let me assure you that I'd _never_ compromise or capitalised on the mental health of my client for—"

Inoichi slammed a hand down and sliced it across the table in a violent swing, leaning forward across the intervening space, halfway out of his chair. "Spare me your sanctimonious reassurances you obnoxious little shit! Do you have _any _idea what was done to Shikaku under the hands of that _monster_? Do you have _any_ idea what Shuken did? Do you have any fucking _CLUE_ as to what went on in those—"

"_Sacrifice_," Danzō broke in, his voice booming over Inoichi's. "That is what went on. That is what _goes_ on every day and every night for shinobi who work from the shadows. Only for some of us there'll be no return from that darkness. No repressed memories. No reintegration into society. No Hokage to bail us out and no _doctored_ reports to fall behind."

Stunned, Inoichi thudded back in his seat, amazed, _appalled_. "How _dare_ you use what happened to Shikaku to justify your actions," he grated, his protectiveness for his friend rising up inside him like a vengeful ghost, emerging from the darkest and most haunted corners of his heart. "No. ROOT doesn't _need_ doctored reports because they're not held accountable for their actions, they don't have to answer to anyone or protect anything other than _you_."

Danzō's eye narrowed darkly. "Everything I do, I do for the _village_," he uttered. "Remind me again, Inoichi, what _your _motives were at the time? Protecting our village from a monster like Shuken? Or stopping Nara Shikaku from becoming one?"

Inoichi exploded to his feet. "You BASTARD!"

Out of all six ROOT operatives, only one moved.

Fū's attack was a blur, his tantō a white streak.

"STOP!" Danzō barked.

The hit never connected.

Inoichi jerked his head back. The blade shivered a breath away from his face. He glared across into the amber eyes, his voice a reverberating growl. "You better get that blade out of my face, boy, before I give you a headache that'll make you wish you'd never drawn it."

Fū's grip tightened around the hilt of the weapon until Danzō raised a hand and swirled his fingers in a recalling gesture. Fū disengaged and stepped back behind his master's chair, obedient as a well-trained attack dog.

Silence settled over the air with a stillness both cold and sobering in light of the sudden violence. The rage bubbled inside of Inoichi, volcanic in its heat, a smoking crater in his soul, clouding his mind, clouding his judgement…

"_Keep a cool head and agile mind, old friend."_

Shikaku's words drifted through him, whisked away the smoke, left behind ash and cinders. Inoichi's eyes smouldered with conflict, his face lined with repressed fury.

Danzō gazed back, his expression unreadable until the groves either side of his mouth deepened with the beginnings of a sneer. "Tch. Such emotionalism. You disappoint me, Yamanaka."

Dr Mushi, having remained a silent spectator for the duration of their exchange, took it upon himself to intervene. "Inoichi-san, while your fears and your pain surrounding both the Shinjū Project and ROOT's involvement in it are understandable, not everything is as black and white as you'd have it."

"_So black and white. I've always loved you for your values but god how I hate you now for your myopic view of the world!"_

Torn by the scar those words had left across his heart, Inoichi clenched his eyes shut, felt his pulse beating heavy at the base of his throat. God, 21 years down the long and winding road to recovery and the fear, the pain, the concern, was as raw as ever.

_It has to be…so we can remember._

Remember_. _Remember what had happened, so that Shikaku could forget.

"_And if he asks me to remind him?"_

"_You can't."_

"_But I…"_

"_Yoshino. We must remember for him, so that he can forget."_

Yes. They had to remember. Always. Because what happened to Nara Shikaku could never be allowed to happen to anyone else ever again.

_Never again._

Banishing the ghosts back into the depths of his heart, Inoichi forced himself to get grip. After a long indrawn breath, he sat down, letting the lava coursing in his veins cool to a thin magma crust.

When he opened his eyes, they were calm, clear. "Just tell me why the hell I'm here and what the hell you _want_."

"Information," Danzō enlightened coolly. "Information about Kusagakure that belongs to me yet has been kept from me. Information that _you_ are going to help me to obtain."

Inoichi cocked his brows, a half-stifled snort catching in his throat. "Excuse me?"

Danzō jerked his chin at Dr Mushi. "Explain."

Mushi sighed. "As I mentioned earlier, Inoichi-san, this ROOT operative refused to cooperate or report back his findings so we were forced to…" Here Mushi paused, put his head down, apparently unable to continue on.

A curt gesture from Danzō and Fū stepped forward, picking up the doctor's abandoned sentence in a voice as neutral and blank as his expression. "I invaded his mind to extract the information."

Inoichi stiffened in his seat, felt the sourness of regret like an ulcer in his gut. He'd taught Fū that _ninjutsu _technique.

_Hn. And the chickens come home to roost._

He allowed the past its bitter due, forced himself to ask. "And was it successful?"

Danzō made a sound in the back of his throat. "Hardly."

Inoichi blinked, not sure whether to be surprised by Fū's failure or impressed by the mystery agent's fortitude. "He resisted?"

"He became utterly _useless_ to me."

Mushi scowled at the crude assessment. "He experienced a psychotic break."

_Shit. What was in his mind that would've caused that?_

It almost pleased Inoichi to think that Danzō might be losing sleep over the same damned question. He sat back a bit, digested the information with a frown. "I take it that this episode passed?"

Mushi shook his head. "Normally that would be the case. Psychotic breaks tend to only last for a day minimum, maximum a month. Unfortunately the operative's condition went into a tailspin. He was catatonic within the week and three days ago he deteriorated into what could only be described as a persistent vegetative state."

Inoichi's brows shot up then pulled together in a bewildered frown, his mind spinning over the irregular data. Slipping from catatonia into PVS? That was one _hell _of a medical leap – an impossible one at that.

At a loss, Inoichi shook his head. "Did he suffer a head injury when he was brutalised? You said he was suffering from septicaemia? Perhaps the blood poisoning precipitated some kind of inflammation in the brain?"

Mushi responded negatively on both accounts. "No. That's what was so bizarre. There was no sign of damage to the cortex and no suggestion of brain disease. No toxins, no tumours, no trauma, nothing. Not even a hint of a neurological disorder. No medical explanation at all for this sudden disorder of consciousness. We've decided to label his condition as a state of 'stasis'."

Danzō looked bored. "Cut to the chase, doctor."

Frowning, Mushi scanned a block of illegible scrawl and quickly paraphrased in a single sentence. "It's my firm belief that his stasis was entirely self-induced."

"_What_?" Inoichi sat forwards, brought his clasped hands onto the table. "Self-induced? But that could only mean…" he trailed off abruptly, a sinking feeling taking hold.

_Oh god no…_

"Yes," Fū said. "He used the Yamanaka clan's secret _kinjutsu _to shut down his mind. The _kinjutsu _that_ you_ created, Inoichi-san."

Not proud of the revelation, or appreciative of the fascinated and appraising look the doctor was giving him, Inoichi drew back in his seat, rubbed his palms together, appalled to find that they were sweating. He felt ice-cold. Numb. Sick to the core.

_No. No. It can't be..._

"Now you understand just what you owe me," Danzō said, his voice so soft it was chilling. "This agent has 10 years' worth of vital information about the Shinjū Project buried in his mind. Information that belongs to _me_."

Numb with shock, Inoichi stared blankly at the centre of the table. Nothing seemed to be registering other than the dread snaking its tendrils around his heart.

_Operative…spy…agent…_

Not once had Danzō mentioned a name.

_God no…it can't be…_

He felt his heart in his throat…or was that the name he hadn't spoken in over ten years…banished to the back of his mind because…

"_You're dead to me."_

Inoichi swallowed thickly, barely even recognised the sound of his voice as it croaked out into the silence. "The operative…who is he?"

"Who he is doesn't matter. What matters is that he thought he could betray me by slipping away into the darkness." Danzō leaned forward by degrees, his dark eye a burning ember in his skull. "What _matters,_ Inoichi, is that you're going to _wake_ him from that darkness and uncover all the secrets that you_ taught_ him how to hide."

* * *

_Hide and fucking seek…_

Only this time it wasn't the Hokage Tower the councillors had chosen to hide in. No, this time they'd closeted themselves away behind the high-walled compound of a luxury _ryokan_, Hotaru; an establishment that took the lion's share of profit among the spattering of inns nestled close to the hot springs.

Genma hadn't come with a plan – he was too far gone to orchestrate one.

But he'd come with a purpose – he was just too far gone to name it.

He'd aimed to storm the castle and had decided – in a blinding moment he couldn't actually recall – that infiltrating via the water gardens would be an excellent idea. Apparently he'd moved with deadly confidence, misjudging the effect that three bottles of shōchū and three little pink pills would have on his chakra control and general state of spatial awareness.

One massive leap and a lily pond later…?

He'd been waist-high in water and knee-deep in shit.

A startled gardener had taken it upon herself to alert security. Security taking the form of an ox-faced behemoth with a name tag that read Oushi and a fist that screamed business. They'd had what Asuma would've called a 'nonverbal conversation'. Only Oushi had done all the talking, because the second Genma had thought about Asuma, he'd had nothing to say.

_Nothing…_

The fight had gone out of him in an instant.

He hadn't even tried to defend himself. He'd taken the beating without blocking a single blow; letting the fists and kicks rain down a kind of sick redemption until the ox man had backed off in confusion.

That'd been two hours ago_._

Now, painted black-and-blue, an icepack pressed to his jaw, Genma sat with one foot pulled up against a metal bench, staring at the cinderblock walls of his holding cell. The senbon ticked like a metronome between each corner of his bruised mouth, a weak attempt to channel the adrenaline still jittering through his veins, causing the corded muscles in his thighs to jump. Stomach quivering, arms trembling, fingers twitching.

Was that adrenaline – or was it withdrawal?

_Fuck._

He'd have chalked it up to anger, but that would've meant...

_Feeling…_

Sneering, he angled his head up and glared at the thin barred window at the top of the adjacent wall. A slice of electric blue sky cut the darkness of the cell and Genma had to squint against the glare of sunlight streaking in through the bars.

The grand indifference of nature, getting up and getting on…

_While I'm getting older by the minute…_

Hell, maybe he'd been in here longer than an hour – or was that two hours? He'd lost time and probably a large portion of his mind, considering where he was and where he should've been.

_Sweeping up the breadcrumbs…_

Instead, by some insane design he didn't really remember making, he was stuck nursing a split lip, a busted jaw and a nasty inch-long gash above a bloodshot eye. Bruised, beaten and bloody. But not one of these pains burned him as bad or pissed him off as much as sitting on his ass. Courtesy of one Hatake Kakashi.

_Bastard._

God, Genma hadn't been screwed like that in – what? Five years?

_Ten._

A sobering thought, about as unpleasant as the ache. He'd made it a rule to be the one doing the taking, the using; whether it was a substance or a person, a drug or a drink. He'd had every intention of beating the shit out of Kakashi for what he'd allowed to let happen. Fortunately for them both, by the time Genma had returned with hell in his hands and murder in his eyes the other ninja was already gone.

_Cut and run..._

Sensible move. Smart move. A sane and self-preserving move. Nothing like the moves they'd made last night; although, Genma had the excuse of having been north of stoned and south of sober.

_What the hell is your tragedy, Hatake? I didn't sit back and watch you crawl outta the trenches all those years ago just to watch you come crawling back._

Anger, it cranked up the pressure pounding in his skull.

_Stupid kid._

Granted, he was only three months older than Kakashi...but Genma was pretty sure he'd been born old. Felt it. Tired. Worn. Used up and wasted. Wait – was that self-pity getting a toehold? He gave a self-derisive snort and cut the pain off at the knees.

_Don't be so fucking pathetic._

The heavy thud of boots drew him away from self-flagellation. He redirected his focus onto the cold steel door and cocked his head, listening out, pulse banging in his head like a trip-hammer with every approaching step.

Maybe Oushi had come back for round two.

Genma hollowed his cheeks and loaded his lungs with air, senbon set to fire.

A brief rattle of keys.

The door swung back on its hinges.

A large trench-coated figure moved to fill the doorway, the cold force of his aura sweeping in ahead of him, sucking the air out of the room and taking up more space than the powerful body that followed.

Genma certainly felt ploughed over, by shock if by nothing else.

Ibiki folded his arms, braced a shoulder against the doorjamb and shook his head. "Tch. They called me in for _this_?"

Senbon ticking side-to-side, Genma covered his surprise and measured up the other man with a bored drift of his gaze. "Morino," he acknowledged. "Long time no torture."

Ibiki snorted and his broad shoulders rolled in a lazy shrug. "I sure hope you're not in here for an inquisition." He bared his teeth in a savage smile. "If memory serves, you'd probably enjoy it."

Genma didn't so much as blink. "You and me both."

Ibiki chuckled darky, tapped his temple. "I remember." He tilted his head, gave Genma the once-over. "Quite the sight for sore eyes, Shiranui."

"You should see the other guy."

"I did. Ugly bastard but he sure rearranged your pretty face." He backed out of the room, indicated for Genma to follow. "Come."

Curious enough to excuse being treated like a dog, Genma dropped the icepack, rocked to his feet and followed close behind, wondering whether he was still knee-deep in shit or sinking further with every step.

_You deserve it._

And yet he blamed Kakashi. There was no other reason why he'd have done something so insubordinate and so stupid. He wasn't insubordinate. He wasn't stupid. So it had to be Kakashi. The bastard was coursing like a drug in Genma's veins. Sure, he'd flush Kakashi out with the rest of the toxins, had even intended to spar with Raidō later on and just sweat the copy-nin out of his system. Bitch of it was, if Genma had actually given a rat's ass about his own life, he might've been sweating pretty hard right about now.

Ibiki led him into a conference room. Basic, stark, no torture implements or one-way mirrors. In fact, it was almost pleasant.

Genma shot Ibiki a sideways look. "What? No toys?"

Ibiki smirked, approached the round conference table, sank down and steepled his long gloved fingers against his scarred lips. He set his gaze on Genma, steady and unblinking.

Shiranui mourned the loss of ox-man.

He'd sooner be hit with a fist than with _that_ look.

Moving out of direct range of Ibiki's laser eyes, Genma circled around to the window, cocked his hip against the sill and pretended to look out across the village, observing Ibiki by way of the glass.

There was silence for a time. And then Ibiki spoke. "You still using?"

Direct as a fist. No pulling punches. Genma sucked the senbon, dragged his tongue across the slender tip until he tasted blood. "Raidō," he guessed.

"People care, even if you don't." Ibiki cocked his head, as if trying to study the Shiranui from a different angle. "You let Oushi beat the shit out of you. You get off on that?"

Genma set his jaw until the pain flared, gave a scoffing snort.

_You'd think._

Ibiki watched him for another tense moment, their gazes holding in the glass. "You fuck up like this again and it won't be the bug-eyed shrink staring at you from across the table," he paused, voice dropping low. "It'll be me."

Genma turned his head at the threat.

Ibiki flashed a razor smile, his eyes reflecting no humour whatsoever. "Think about it."

Genma had no time to. The doors eased open and Utatane Koharu and Mitokado Homura stepped through, the soft swish of robes offset by the scuff of sandals on concrete. Genma had a vision of reluctant children dragging their feet. It was obliterated by the stern matriarchal eye Koharu turned on him. She gave a quick sniff of disdain, jerked her chin towards the table.

"Sit," she ordered.

Genma grit his teeth, moved to obey, waiting until both councillors were seated before planting himself directly opposite them, right beside Ibiki.

He waited for the other Tokujō to leave.

He didn't.

Genma glanced across, could read nothing off the other man. Hard to tell what he was thinking, never mind _how _much he'd been told.

_Whatever he knows, it's enough to be sitting here…_

Which could only mean he was one of the unsung ghosts in this requiem of dead truths and living lies. It wasn't so surprising. Not to him anyway. Unbidden, a vision of Asuma's face drifted into his mind, haunting him, hating him…

_"Whatever it was, whatever happened between you…it didn't matter in the end."_

It had to have mattered…

_Else what the hell am I doing here?_

The question struck like a senbon between the eyes. Genma's head knocked up a fraction, the shock registering like a splinter in his skull. His senbon stopped ticking. Yes, just what the hell _was _he doing? Questioning orders. Going off on his own agenda. Behaving like—

_Kakashi…_

His spine went rigid. Oh _god _help that silver-haired, silver-tongued sonofabitch. He'd rubbed off on Genma like a fucking bloodstain. To think, he'd lain with Kakashi and had gotten up covered in the sticky, messy, complicated blood of the other man's conscience…because surely it wasn't _his_ blood…his_…_

_Feelings_…

He ruthlessly slaughtered the thought before it could take root. That's all it was, a fleeting thought. Not a feeling. Feeling was impossible because…

_I'm not feeling anything._

And again the question taunted him; then why the hell was he _here?_

Apparently, he wasn't the only one wondering that.

Ibiki kicked him under the table, a not-so-subtle crack against his shinbone that brought Genma jolting back. He hadn't realised he'd even zoned out. Blinking, he refocused on the councillors glaring at him across the short distance, their stern patrician features tight with displeasure.

"Well? You wanted our attention," Koharu said. "You have it. Appalling as your conduct was in obtaining it. You will not be forgiven for that twice. Now. Speak."

"_Ah, dog. It's time to speak. SPEAK!"_

Genma stiffened against the memory. He forced his mouth to move, modulated his voice into a neutral drone. "The Godaime has approved a mission in Kusagakure. I understand that Nara Shikamaru has been assigned."

Homura's brows rose from their perpetual frown. "How did you know about that?"

Genma said nothing, waited for an answer.

Koharu pursed her lips. "You didn't need to know. In fact, you have your own marks to mind, Genma. For instance, Dr Mushi. It's our understanding that he cancelled his morning sessions. Do you know why?"

_Shit._

Genma lowered his eyes, duly chastened. He'd missed his session with Mushi, failed to obtain the information that would've led him to wherever the insect had scuttled off to. God, one fuck up with Asuma and the domino-effect was spiralling, reminding him again of the weakness of getting personal.

_They know you're slipping, _his mind taunted. _You'd better get a grip before they toss you to the wolves._

And that wasn't even including the one sat next to him. Honestly, Genma wouldn't have put it past the Council to have him sectioned and detained. They'd have him drugged up to his eyeballs and locked in a stupor in order to shut him up and shut him down until the mess had blown over.

_It wouldn't be the first time._

And while Homura and Koharu hadn't had a _direct _hand in the matter, Danzō had been more than willing to stick a needle in his jugular. To think, the bastard had then had the nerve to try and _recruit _him.

The Sandaime had saved him the first time around. But Tsunade would have no reason whatsoever to bail him out. Especially if she learned that he'd lied to her, withholding vital information. It wouldn't matter to her that he'd done it under orders of a former Hokage. It wouldn't matter that in going against the council and Danzō he'd have put the village at risk. It wouldn't matter that he'd wanted to protect Shikamaru. It wouldn't even matter that he'd cut his own throat by swearing himself to silence. It just wouldn't matter. None of it. Not one damn bit because Genma was still _Goei Shotai_. Answerable to Tsunade, not to the past and all its promises…and yet, there was no turning back, no coming clean because—

"_The Sandaime entrusted us_ _with this matter. And now you have been entrusted. That is your burden. But that is your duty. And a shinobi must do whatever is necessary to carry out his duty."_

And yet every time he thought about going against that duty, letting go of that burden, leaving that _hell_, it wasn't the glowering faces or the stern words of the Council that stopped him…it wasn't even the threat of punishment, of death or dishonour…

It was violet eyes and a broken voice…

"…_you know the score. We can't all cut and run…you gotta remember your promise to me…and my promise to the Sandaime…now swear it…"_

He'd sworn it. And that's all there was to it. Nothing more and nothing less.

_Nothing…_

"Genma," Homura called, jerking him back like a dog on a chain. "You will find out where Dr Mushi has been and you will report back to us immediately. Do you understand?"

"I understand." Automatic. Empty.

_Nothing_.

"Good," Homura grunted, some of the tension falling away from his face. "While we appreciate your concern for Nara Shikamaru, we cannot extract him from the mission without the risk of compromising its success or of alerting Tsunade-sama. In this instance we must allow this mission to proceed as planned."

"Our decision regarding this matter is final," Koharu compounded, her crisp tone brooking no argument. "And to avoid Danzō's interference, we'll be sending in our own ANBU agent to watch over and monitor Nara Shikamaru."

Genma frowned, glancing up sharply. "Won't Tsunade-sama need to approve the assignment of an ANBU operative?"

Homura tipped his brow towards Ibiki. "In this case, all it will require is Ibiki's approval. Under his recommendation we've selected an ANBU candidate to watch over Nara Shikamaru for the duration of their mission."

"A _candidate_?" Great. An amateur. Genma shook his head.

Ibiki smiled a little, as if he'd expected this response. "He's more than capable, Shiranui. In fact, this mission coincides perfectly with his first practical assessment. Once I've briefed him on his objective regarding Nara Shikamaru he'll be sure to carry out every instruction right down to the last bloody letter."

"Why?"

"Because I'll fail him if he doesn't."

Genma smirked at the blunt response. "You'd be doing him a favour."

"Genma," Homura growled, grey brows set in their penal 'v'.

Ibiki only chuckled, a deep rumble at the back of his throat. "Not this one. He wants it _bad_. If he screws up here, it'll be more than the mission at stake. He'll forfeit ever finding a position in the black ops." He paused here, looked over. "As you know, ANBU doesn't give second chances."

"And neither do we," Koharu reminded, her gaze sharp on Genma. After some deliberation she continued, "Now. Tsunade-sama will suspect nothing as this ANBU candidate is already participating in the mission."

Homura nodded. "No one will be aware of the candidate's hidden agenda. Once the team have entered Kusagakure he'll be under covert orders to recall Shikamaru from the mission _should _any complications present themselves."

"Complications…" Genma muttered beneath his breath, glancing between the two councillors. "And if this candidate can't handle the…" he left the appropriate pause to illustrate the disdain so evident in his voice. "_Complications_."

"In that case, we will require ROOT's assistance to detain Shikamaru," Homura explained, frowning at the likelihood. "Of course, that will be a contingency plan. One that I doubt we'll need to fall back on where Shikamaru is concerned."

"Unlike the last time," Koharu said, her eyes slicing across to Genma, the unspoken accusation ringing loud in the silence that followed.

Ibiki frowned and pinched his lips between his steepled fingers, dark eyes slanting across to measure the Shiranui's reaction.

Nothing.

Pokerfaced, Genma stared straight back at the councillor. Eviscerated by the words, he gave no reaction at all to the acute sense of shame slicing like a tantō across his gut, a metaphorical _hara-kiri _playing out in body, soul, mind. But not heart. They'd ripped that out of him two years ago.

Koharu seemed pleased. "That's better," she said.

"We'll adjourn here," Homura concluded, leaning back and closing his eyes as if he could finally rest easy. "All that's left is for our candidate to be briefed. Ibiki has already assigned him a codename."

On cue, Ibiki plucked out a slim manila folder from his coat, slapped it onto the desk and spun it round to display the operative's name: SHIRATAKA.

_White Hawk._

Genma looked askance, a dark brow drawing up.

Ibiki sat back. Gone was the sharp ruthless smile, replaced instead by a grim expression of blunt finality. "Hyūga Neji."

* * *

He traced the scars…

First the top one, then the bottom, skimming callused fingers along rugged scar tissue, following the path Yoshino's lips had taken.

"_Remind me…"_

Shikaku stared into his mug and swirled the coffee until it spiralled into a vortex as dark as the shadows in his mind. He could sense the chakra churning, the mass so thick, so opaque, so concentrated, that no light, no sentience, no memory could penetrate it. No sense of depth or dimension in this darkness. It remained as fathomless as the unseen matter of the universe…working its unseen laws, an ever-present gravity pulling at his soul.

"_Remind me…"_

She hadn't. She'd helped him to forget, leading him back from any lanes that led to memory, away from dead-end roads and paths of no return…

A flutter of wings outside the window. The shrill _kee_ of Shikamaru's resident stalker.

And then something else.

Shikaku stopped stirring his coffee, dark eyes drifting up at the sound of phantom noise down the hallway. Faint and barely detectable. But Shikaku's ears were well-trained and long accustomed to the language of the house; from the groan of timbers to the whisper of _shoji_, from the creak of boards tp the hiss of ductworks…right down to the barest sigh of a window slipping shut.

_There you are._

The kid had seen the break, made the entry.

Shikaku knew because he'd planned it that way.

Having let Yoshino do her usual lockdown of the house, the elder Nara had decided to cut his son some slack and leave a window open, thus saving Shikamaru from having to knock, saving himself from having to answer and saving them _both_ from a fuming Yoshino.

He waited thirty minutes before approaching Shikamaru's room.

Standing in the doorway, arms loosely folded, Shikaku leaned into the frame, his dark gaze roaming the room in a cursory scan before his attention swung back to the figure sprawled across the bed.

The gravity in his soul pulled hard on his heart.

Shikamaru had collapsed atop the bed, still fully dressed – bar his sandals. Shikaku's lips twitched weakly, his sharply chiselled features softening a little. He slipped into the room, a shadow against the wall, keeping distance as he moved, orbiting the most precious thing at the centre of his world…_his_ world...a private world…one that existed parallel to the world that all shinobi were forced to walk in, live in…die in.

_We do what we have to until the end._

He needed to believe that.

He paused beside Shikamaru's bed, studied his son's sleeping face, searched for the lost traces of a child hidden in the sharp grooves and strong angles. He found only shadows, sunk deep in hollow cheeks and narrow lines. Maturity, age, strain. How long had that child been gone? How long had he closed his eyes to the change? How long had he ignored the inevitability, the cruel thief of time?

_"Tell me you never see him this way."_

"_No. I don't."_

"_You don't…"_

"_I can't."_

Closing his eyes, Shikaku pulled a long breath through his nose, held it hard in the back of his throat. He turned his head aside, eyes slipping open to settle on a picture frame that occupied the low bedside table.

Team 10.

_Team Asuma._

Shikaku's breath left him in a rustle. Darting a quick glance at Shikamaru, listening to the deep and even breathing, the elder Nara waited a few beats before moving to lift the picture frame. Asuma, hunched over the genin trio, demonstrating patience for the camera with a half-smile canting his lips, a hint of teeth that might've been grit around the cigarette attached to his mouth.

Shikaku tilted his head, his brow scrunched slightly, warring between sadness and a smile.

_"I think I envied him sometimes. Worried he was closer to my kid than I was. That's a different kind of bond."_

Yes, it was. But Inoichi's fear of being usurped as a father had never really entered Shikaku's mind. Granted, Asuma's closeness to the kids had meant he'd assumed a position that might've challenged the parental relationships. Only that hadn't happened. Not once. He couldn't say why. Mutual respect for boundaries and the bonds that marked them? Shikaku hadn't thought to question it. Was glad he never had. Trusted in its ability to work. Had trusted it implicitly. Had trusted Asuma implicitly. Knew in his gut that it'd been the right call.

_Thank you…_

Grazing his thumb along the glass, he cast his gaze from sensei to students before his attention fixed solely on the image of his son – frozen at twelve, happy, smiling, maybe with a hint of looking a little harassed…on the verge of entering a world where casting shadows would become far more than puppet-play on the walls.

An acute sense of sadness seized Shikaku's chest, followed by the image of a toddler with soft sleepy eyes, an 8-year-old kid reluctant to hold his hand and a young man struggling through the vicissitudes and never-ending violence of shinobi life…

_"Dammit! I don't need you to step in. Don't treat me like a kid!"_

"_You are a kid. You're my kid."_

He recalled the shocked and almost stricken look on his son's face, mirroring the confusion and the hurt he'd seen shining in Yoshino's eyes…

_"Remind me what you saw when he came back from that mission…because I saw this child…"_

Shikaku's brow creased softly, fingers tightening on the frame.

_"My child! Your SON, Shikaku! Out there I can't protect him! Out there I force myself to remember he's a shinobi but HERE he is my SON! OUR son!"_

Cutting the memory off with a tight snag of breath, Shikaku leaned down and set the picture frame back in its spot, his hand resting heavy on the frame. His touch lingered, long seconds passing until his fingers drifted down – stopped again – and hovered above the table…

He looked down at his son…

A heart-breaking hesitation…

And then Shikaku reached across, brushed a tender stroke across Shikamaru's gently furrowed brow, smoothing his thumb over the line, trying to ease away the worry like he'd done when Shikamaru had been a child.

_Seems the most I can ever do for you, son, is play Shogi…_

Shikamaru's nose crinkled a little at the touch, relaxed a heartbeat later, his expression smoothing out, easing into something close to peaceful. Shikaku let out the breath he'd been holding, tapped his brow to the pillow close to Shikamaru's head before drawing away.

Turning to leave, he cast one last look at the picture frame, lips crooked in the fainted of smiles. "Hear you me, Asuma," Shikaku whispered, his hoarse tones gentled by the warmth that came shining through the shadows in his eyes. "Watch over my boy, until I find a way."

A way to teach his son how to walk through the shadows, without leaving him scarred.

- **END** -

* * *

To Be Continued in _UNDER THESE SCARS_

Glossary;  
_Shinjū – _depending on the kanji used it has two meanings; 1) divine beast 2) double suicide (often committed by lovers who cannot be together). Both meanings will be relevant in UtS.  
_Kaika – _fire of mysterious or suspicious origin (similar meaning to _Shiranui_)  
_Shuken – _means sovereign (yes, cookies for those who make the connection), dominion, supremacy  
_Kinjutsu – _forbidden jutsu

**A/N:** And thus, the curtain closes. My dear Readers, I hope you've enjoyed the show. I appreciate any and all thoughts that you wish to share. I will comb this through again for typos during the week, just wanted to get it up and posted for you guys. As with OtC, I try to use the epilogues to tie up threads whilst also leaving some hanging for future instalments. So yes, more questions raised but hopefully some answers given too with this splurge of plot. Any questions etc. you can reach me here on ffnet or over on tumblr or dArt.

**Reviewers**, I **thank you** for having given me the motivation to direct this story and for having welcomed me back to the fanfiction forum! Your words will remain with me, many of them kept close to my heart. I thank each of you.

**UtS: **As for when the future instalment _Under These Scars _will appear, I would be a fool to set a date. I honestly _do not know_. Sadly but rightly so, it doesn't pay to write fanfiction and unfortunately, given the _crazy_ stupid amount of time, blood, sweat and loss of sleep that I invest in writing BtB fics, I cannot afford to launch into another instalment any time soon. As always, any and all information about future fics will be posted on my profile here and in more detail on my dArt BtB homepage. I can only say it will be at some point in the future – when, depends on how well I progress and how successfully I launch my own works, which brings me onto…

**HIATUS**: It is with a gush of withheld breath and excitement that I return now to my original works. I will never have words enough to thank those of you who are supporting me here. I appreciate you so much. My heart runneth over! I can't wait to bring you stories and worlds and wild rides to boot.

Catch you the next time around, my dears…

Until then, keep it Raw and keep it Real – with that healthy dollop of stupid simple.

~ Rayne


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